


Fractional Infatuations

by CountDraluka



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, Takes place after Diamond Days, very experimental
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-11-06 17:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 42,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17943725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountDraluka/pseuds/CountDraluka
Summary: "She has just left the nebula of her existence, the primordial period of her being, and yet everything seems so sure and adequate and well-lived that her own knowledge becomes confusion. Names dance around her nonexistent memory, some more striking than others, and the stories that accompany them are at the tip of her tongue, awaiting to be told. She has a million words for a million different objects, recognizes dialects and folklore from all corners of the galaxy. She knows her Empire. She knows her people. And, at least for the time being, she knows herself. Born ancient, a child of cosmic dust. A Diamond."Homeworld was dying, it was true, and with it dies the Diamond Authority that once was. The war is over. The rebellion won. The lack of resources finally takes its toll. Yellow and Blue must learn to live without grief, and White must learn to live with herself. As the world around them changes, all they can hope for is a miracle. Or, as it turns out, for an asteroid to completely destroy a potential new colony.





	1. Consequences of Peace

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything other than college-entrance essays for the last ten months, so writing this was a way to put my creative side back in use. As of now, there is no real plan for it, but hopefully I will come up with an actual plot sometime before I finish the third chapter. In the meantime, this is just unashamed Diamond appreciation. Consider this a pilot episode and enjoy.

_"_ _There is love in your body but you can't hold it in_    
_It pours from your eyes and spills from your skin_    
_Tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks_    
_And the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts”_  

_Florence and The Machine, Hardest of Hearts._  

 

* * *

 

The ocean breeze washes over Beach City. Its residents have long retired to their beds, buried under pillows and duvets, awaiting in their dreams the morning that will soon come. Those who do not require sleep are also tired, but prefer to search for comfort in the magic hallways and rooms of the temple that welcomes them. Some call it ‘home’ with more ease than others. It is, without doubt, a time of healing for all of gemkind. Fresh are the scars they bear. Agreements have been made between rebels and monarchists, compromises made for the sake of peace. Even the word ‘peace’ is foreign to some, but they are willing to do their part to upkeep it. There is still work to be done, but they all deserve a break, deserve to let their guards down for a little while. The little human who is at the center of all of this sleeps peacefully in his flannel pajamas, blissfully unaware of the stormy asteroid that makes its way across the Milky Way, hidden under the cover of the night sky.  

 

* * *

 

She is light. Immutable. Whole. Perfect in every way. A default state of existence, purposely placed to return things to the way they were supposed to be. She is everyone, and everyone is her. Flawless. Perfect. 

Perfect, wasn’t that it? 

At least, that was the philosophy White had held onto for two eras. Millennia spent standing in her throne room, still as stone, gleaming eyes overlooking her dear Homeworld live and breathe before her. It was a tiresome duty, that of a ruler. To be obliged to divide her attention between so many of her subjects, stepping in whenever their flaws obscured their bright light, being in control of so many and of herself. Any other gem would have cracked under such expectations, but she was White Diamond. She was better.  

Yes. As it turns out, she really was better. Better at blinding herself in her own light. Better at detaching herself from the reality at hand. Better at believing in the wrong things. Better at being flawed.  

The realization came and went, leaving behind waves of agony and embarrassment that made White wish to claw at her own gem. Yellow and Blue had proven to be more forgiving than the little human had anticipated.  After all, most pay no mind to speeches about the art of redeeming oneself and how to take your time when they too are being choked by guilt. Her fellow Diamonds remained wary of her, that much was evident, but were willing to disregard well-concealed trauma in order to gain a new sense of normalcy. Suffering still, though together and not so silently. So they stood their ground with shaky words, sometimes making White wince at the ideas they supported, yet always offered a warm embrace whenever things did not go to plan (and White would not cope well). White watched them interact from a safe distance, never comfortable enough to join in, learning by herself what it meant to be... Herself, she supposes.

In this moment, for example, Blue and Yellow are discussing colonization strategies over star charts. Despite the seriousness of the situation (that is, the impending lack of resources), Yellow keeps her arm hooked around Blue’s waist, lips periodically twisting into a small smile that is quickly paid in return. Blue can sense Yellow’s worry before it even manifests in her mind, dodging sensitive topics and coming up with alternative solutions without a second’s delay. A perfect pair, White ponders, the one thing she was right at. Dependent on one another, yes, but... 

“White, what do you think?” 

The question catches her by surprise. It takes her eyes a moment to focus on the energy graph Yellow has pulled up on the holoscreens. The information it contains is all but encouraging, though it is a start. 

“Only viable if we are able to make up for the soil acridness. Perhaps it will be necessary to send a team of Peridots to collect samples before we can discuss this any further.” 

“The upside is that there are no sentient civilizations for us to worry about.” 

There is a tone of defeat hidden in Blue’s voice. Just a few hours earlier, the Diamonds had been forced to reject the colony plans for an abnormally fertile planet, all because disturbing its crawling creatures would be a breach of contract with the little human. Yellow wondered if there was any point in making such sacrifices in sake of a functioning empire when it meant they would have no means to keep it running.  

Homeworld was dying, it was true. The search for a new capital had been initiated a few centuries before Pink Diamond came into the picture. Back then, time felt endless, and so the project was never put into the forefront. With Pink’s sudden demise, however, it seemed wiser to place efforts on continuing the ongoing colonizations instead of preparing for drastic move. When the need for limb-enhancers reached a new peak during the last cycle, however, it became clear that the damage was too great to be repaired. Had the rebellion not staged an intervention, White fears things would have simply continued to spiral downward for a couple more centuries, until it all came crashing down in flames. The little human had been right about the state of the Authority: it was broken. Incredibly so, and it was time for the Diamonds to fix it. As a result, they had been stuck in a crisis council ever since, sending scouting troops to all corners of space and rereading over maps, praying to find something they might have missed.  

“Just earthquakes and metal-melting rain.” Yellow took a long sigh, then removed her hand from where it rested on Blue’s skin to tap away at the keyboard. Facing in her direction, White could clearly see the bags under Yellow’s eyes, outlined by the artificial glow of a monitor. She had consciously avoided her own reflection that same morning, and the morning before that, fearing that the gem who would stare back would make her nauseous. Almost instinctively, White’s hands ran over her silky robes, smoothing out any wrinkles that might have formed in the last minute. Out of the three, Blue was the only one whose appearance had improved after their return from Earth. Her eyes seemed lighter, somehow.  

“Pearl, please send a research expedition to C-939. Make sure that...” 

Yellow’s order was cut short by the unannounced entrance of one of her Nephrite captains, who burst in through the doors with such force that the standby Pearls, busy with their own tasks, collectively gasped. The Nephrite’s salute was clumsy as she stumbled over her words, searching for breath between phrases.  

“My Diamonds! An asteroid ju-just crashed into D-315!... The impact... The impact tore the planet in half!” 

That was unprecedented information. D-315 was one of the planets towards the bottom of their list, the last to make the initial cut, but if it had been destroyed in the meantime, there was no reason to consider it. Realistically speaking, they had lost another option. Yellow and Blue shared a nervous look before the shaking captain could proceed.  

“And... Well, the planet itself is as barren as they come, but the Peridot squad reported they calculated an average of 3000 atm, plus an estimated of 99.87% of resources in the asteroid’s landing site...” 

Had this message been delivered a mere month in advance, the poor Nephrite would have returned to her base inside a canary-colored bubble. To interrupt a private Diamond meeting on any day was already basis for a form destabilization, specially if it happened in White’s presence, but to do it simply to give useless information took it to another level. In the middle of a crisis, to top it all off! Even a Pearl was bound to blow up in anger. Blue was about to clarify that no, an asteroid’s worth of carbon or nitrogen was not even close to the amount of supplies they needed to repair their ships, when the Nephrite spoke once again, nervous eye zapping between the three towering figures in front of her.  

“... Diamond-grade resources, my Diamonds! Diamond... Grade...” 

White, whose calculated reactions tended to flawlessly follow suit any commentary previously made, was unable to respond but with a sudden intake of air. By the time the trembling Nephrite had poofed herself out of stress, gem rolling past Yellow Pearl’s pointed feet, Blue Diamond had harshly taken hold of Yellow’s upper arm, dragging the both of them to the main control panel as Yellow barked out orders to the Pearls. Having done nothing but overlook situations unfold below her, staying still on a marble pedestal for over a millennia, White found the aggravated ordeal quite overwhelming, though eras of practiced poise left the impression of calmness in her stance. Emeralds and Peridots and all manner of gems quickly began to storm in and out of the room, bringing with them newly-collected soil samples and their respective analysis as if life depended on it.  

It might have taken another week for a conclusion to be obtained:  

The great Diamond Authority would soon welcome a new leader.  

One White had taken no part in creating.  

Perfect, wasn’t that it? 

 

* * *

 

There are visits to the kindergarten site. Blue uses them as an excuse to have Yellow to herself, even if an entourage of technicians surrounds the planet like a barricade and they have to borrow White’s ship to get there. Still, with the volcano fumes and soot-covered mountains as the backdrop, Green Diamond takes long walks around a planet that reeks like death, her long skirts bunched up in her hands to avoid dragging in the puddles of brazen magma.  

Green’s existence, albeit technically allowed as per Homeworld customs (please, she was pure diamond), went against White’s functionality requirement more often than not. The justification from Blue and Yellow was never explicitly demanded – actually, haven gotten closer to her after Steven’s intervention, Yellow would argue that White did turn a blind eye when it came to Green – yet they always found themselves confessing their overindulgence to the matriarch. They had never been confined to bubbles, even when White had walked in the middle of their courtship, but the alternative punishments followed by White’s cold smile did teach their lesson. Only when Pink came around, showing herself way too engaging with other gems, that fusion became a sore topic between the Diamonds. Do not mention it, White had ordered. Keep it to yourselves. They did. Green, who had been a rare occurrence on her own, became a job not worth the payment. Lower gems may have a need for fusion, Blue had argued to Yellow, but we are Diamonds. It is outside our purpose, was what Yellow answered back. 

With said information in mind, it becomes evident that for Green to run around aimlessly, right in the peak of a crisis, is cathartic at the very least. Being herself feels like the most honest conversation, something (until very recently) difficult to come by for Yellow and Blue. Green is balance. She is understanding. She is returning to your room after a long day and finding inviting arms to fall back onto. Yellow absorbs Blue’s coldness. Blue takes in Yellow’s warmth. Together, Green exists as the ideal middle point. Moreover, when the Diamonds’ lives are torn between extremes, returning to the center always make things a little bit clearer.  

Green’s walks never last too long. Yellow still obsesses about spending her time in the most productive way as possibly achievable, while Blue finds that the longer they stay together, the harder it is to split up once they must. As it has become the routine, Green takes a moment to sit by the valleys northeast of the kindergarten site, where the magma has solidified into sturdy, dense rock. The place is violent in nature, yet Green can’t deny the beauty of it. Contradictory, she supposes. A moment of contemplation passes before light takes over the darkness of the smoke. One silhouette morphs into two, both regal creatures satisfied for spending time with one another. Blue’s head stays against Yellow’s shoulder for longer than intended, the so familiar scent of electricity drawing her in, and their hands remain laced well after White’s ship arrives back at Homeworld. There is, however, doubt in their minds.  

“Yellow, what will we do if she is just like Pink?” 

Blue remains serene, grief seeping through only the smallest of cracks, almost as if she had already made peace with the question at hand. The same question that has been haunting Yellow since she had seen the kindergarten; from the moment when, suddenly, it all became very real.  

“We won’t make the same mistakes, Blue. We won’t let her be miserable.” 

Yellow’s grip on Blue’s hand became tighter.  

“And if we fail her without realizing?” 

“Then...” 

From the ship’s window, Homeworld stretches ahead of them. Twisted, broken, and held together by a string of hope.  

“... Then she will find someone who won’t. Just like we did. Just like Pink did.” 

White was the one who greeted them upon arrival. She was, like always, the paragon of perfection, even if her smile concealed newfound anxiety. She all but flinched at the chaste kiss Yellow had laid on her cheek during their welcoming. As they returned to their premeditated duties, Blue reflected on how her uneasiness towards White’s well-being greatly outscored her concerns for the forthcoming Diamond.  

 

* * *

 

‘Who am I?’ 

This has become White’s mantra over the past months. She watches the approximated site of emergence with furrowed eyebrows. The new Diamond, a miracle for the desperate, will bear no traces of her incompetence. For the first time, White will not see the reflections of herself on the surface of a polished, fresh out of the ground gemstone, a reminder of all the flaws that she must correct. The new Diamond will come as a blank slate, standing on her own, individual, just as White herself had emerged so many eons prior. Perhaps she will resemble Blue the most, or Yellow. A selfish part of White wishes that she would be like Pink, offering the three of them a second chance to alter the end of the story. Another part of White, the one she so carefully suffocates with gleaming radiance, fears that the new Diamond will take away her position, becoming the new irrefutable leader to a rising generation of gemkind. White’s mind then turns to the little human, tucked away in another corner of the cosmos, the ruler of a rebellion. Oh, but he is different. He is the leader of defectors, half-healed gems who would rather let go of order in favor of pursuing a purposeless life, existing for themselves and themselves only. The thought of it makes White shudder, but more recent memories tint her vision with rosy tones. Whatever is left of Pink in him is enough to soften White’s opinion on the rebellion. It is detached from her reality.  

‘Who am I?’ 

That is a question no gem is supposed to ask. They come into existence already sure of their place, function, and self. For White to repeatedly inquire such subject is singularly a sign of her defects, and yet she somehow insists on it. She knew the answer, once upon a time, but mourning has erased it from her mind with the same brutality that the rushing lava overtakes the landscape. The little human had told her to be whoever she was. She wanted to, desperately.  

If her being imperfect did not cause the universe to shatter into fragments, then being herself was the logical choice. Return to normalcy. Return to peace. 

White just did not know how.  

* * *

 

Her trip back to Homeworld is filled with distracted humming as White flicks through the holoscreens, bright and tiresome and saturated with information. Her Pearl sits close by, tufts of pink hair and pink tulle standing out among the monochrome of her control room, calm smile on her face. Another sin White will have to repent for.  White had offered to send her to the little human, the closest thing to her past mistress, but the stubborn gem had insisted on keeping her post. She grieved Pink, still, and this seemed to be her preferred coping mechanism. Fulfill her purpose. Keep busy. Even the Renegade could not convince Pink Pearl otherwise.  

“You owe me this, my Diamond.” was what she had said, round eyes glossed over with tears, the little human’s hand still on the Pearl’s thin shoulder. Her pain-filled sobs after learning of Pink’s demise echoed clearly in White’s ears. White could not bring herself to refuse.  

Pink Pearl was not the most efficient of servants. She got distracted terribly easily, finding a million side tasks to complete before turning her attention back to what had been initially asked of her, never failing to offer a helping hand to a fellow gem in need (even if her own chores alone would take up an entire day to be completed). She was, as Pink Diamond had requested, chatty and energetic, meaning she often became bored at White’s extensively bureaucratic affairs. The Pearl never complained out loud, but the restless twisting of her stray strands of hair were quite apparent to White’s trained gaze. White felt obliged to let her Pearl find some sort of entertainment. The idea of allotting a specific time each cycle for their personal Pearls to rest had been Blue’s suggestion, undoubtedly the result of the little human’s ideology. It was not the most productive of solutions, as Yellow had pointed out, though it did make the Pearls much more receptive to their jobs. Syncing up their breaks with those of the Homeworld Quartz soldiers was a mere coincidence, one that Pink Pearl was secretly grateful for.  

Nevertheless, once her Pearl had completed a bit of practice in her new post, her efficiency slowly improved. White had become almost fond of her. Genuinely, in the way only a Diamond could care for a Pearl. Pearls were, all in all, a Diamond’s strongest link to the outside world. 

Essential.  

Looking at the small assistant, White was reminded of a tradition.  

“Pearl, please contact the marine kindergarten division. Our new queen will be in need of a Pearl of her own.” 

 

* * *

 

The communication channel flashes twice before Yellow accepts the call. At such an hour, when most gems are deeply buried in their duties, only one person would dare to contact her.  

“Blue, what is it?” 

Her voice, always rough at the edges, is softened by the emotion behind her words, like honey dripped on top of sea salt. There is a tinge of concern, as it can be expected when it comes to Blue, but the fondness for having a conversation keeps the tone light, slipping into the familiarity they so craved, as if there had never been a misunderstanding between them. The connection finally loads completely and the video call displays on her screen, cyan eyes staring straight into her golden ones.  

Blue sighs from the other side of the line, a small sound that sends shivers down Yellow’s spine while simultaneously painting the world the color of the storm. Blue looks happy enough, if not a bit restless. The dark circles under her eyelashes have faded to a light lilac, the most concrete reminder that Blue hasn’t cried in weeks. Yellow, on the other hand, recalls crying yesterday, face buried in Blue’s silky robes.  

“Let’s go to my pool chamber. Oh! Please, Yellow. We haven’t actually been together in days.” 

Oh, so it hadn’t been yesterday. Last week, perhaps? Yellow did tend to get caught up in her work, as Blue and White (and her Pearl, apparently) so enjoyed to point out.  

“Right now? Blue, you do know we both have a lot to do. Those new Agates are due to emerge soon back on D-102, and I still need to check up on the extraction progress at...” 

Yellow has to push down her own desires to quit her post by staring at the screen to her side, hoping that the endless list of upcoming events will knock some discipline into her. It fails, obviously, and the back-and-forth flicking of Yellow’s attention makes Blue even more dedicated to leading her astray.  

“Now, Yellow.” 

This is the farthest away from the tone she used with Pink whenever she threw a tantrum, even if it is just as much of an order and, if you were to experience it, just as terrifying. Yellow’s focus snaps back to the videocall, stares at it for a moment, and suddenly ditching her Diamond responsibilities seems like a very wise decision.  

Blue smiles at her reaction.  

“Just wait. I’ll be there soon.” 

Later, when both of their physical forms have been soaked to the core, water lukewarm from the heat of their passion, and Yellow finds herself untangling Blue’s hair with the tips of her bare fingers, she concludes it was a wise decision, indeed.  

 

* * *

 

_“There is love in our bodies and it holds us together_    
_But pulls us apart when we're holding each other_    
_We all want something to hold in the night_    
_We don't care if it hurts or we're holding too tight”_  

 

* * *

 

Heat. That is the first sensation she experiences. Scorching, melting, maddening heat all around her. Her nails claw at it, searching for the grip of stone inside magma, grasping for a new lifeline to hold onto. She breaks layer after layer of soil, her movements causing the earth to tremble below her. Destruction is the first thing she does, and how good does it feel. Her left hand punctures through the surface, uncaring, and the atmosphere is freezing compared to her blazed skin. Yes, this is it. She has a mission, an objective to be reached by any means possible. To simply exist is not enough. She must take it for herself, drown in it, yank it from destiny if so need be. Passiveness is unbecoming to her. A queen. A ruler, that is what she is. Unquestionable. All-knowing. Paramount. Perfect, if you will. There is a name for her kind... A title... 

Oh, so it is. A Diamond.  

Smoke from the aftermath volcanic explosions covers the skyline as Black Diamond emerges. Her birth planet, already split from the impact of the asteroid that brought her, is reduced to smithereens with the damage her existence has provoked. Magma oozes all around her, slithering over the mountains like a living beast, the smell of sulfur and carbon dioxide filling her lungs as Black takes her first breath. The scenario is apocalyptic and, as it is with any sort of carnage, brings about a twisted beauty fitting for the queen behind it. Her eyes, dark as the universe that expands past the horizon, bright as the full moon seen from one of Earth’s beaches, travel up and down her glowing body, newly-formed yet so familiar. Her long hands follow a few seconds behind her gaze, tracing over shadow-toned skin so very different in texture from everything else she has felt so far, gripping every curve and line they find in her path. Her ink-like hair sticks to her face, silky and slick from the moisture of the earth, providing no cover to the nakedness of her body. The blowing wind feels less chilling, now. Pleasant, almost, like a cold bath after a hot day travelling past red giants. She licks her lips, the saltiness of sweat mixed with the sweetness of being alive. Tempting. Lastly, the gentlest of touches, her fingertips skim the gemstone on her forehead, sharply-cut and firmly-set. A crown will adorn it soon enough.  

She has just left the nebula of her existence, the primordial period of her being, and yet everything seems so sure and adequate and well-lived that her own knowledge becomes confusion. She can picture places she has never been in, hear voices when all she has listened to are the sounds of the earth, taste the bitterest of flavors and smell the loveliest of scents when all she feels is the heat and the smoke. Names dance around her nonexistent memory, some more striking than others, and the stories that accompany them are at the tip of her tongue, awaiting to be told. She has a million words for a million different objects, recognizes dialects and folklore from all corners of the galaxy. She knows her Empire. She knows her people. And, at least for the time being, she knows herself. Born ancient, a child of cosmic dust.  

Satisfied with her emergence, knelled among ashes and dirt, Black lifts her face up towards the stars. Light overtakes her for a brief eternity. Had she not been so enraptured by her own genesis and bothered to check her surroundings with a clearer mind, Black would have noticed the noble spectator of her act, the figure clad in starlight and radiance, altogether misplaced in the midst of so much devastation. Her vision adjusts, and Black smiles with the complacency only she could ever conjure up. 

_‘My, you’re beautiful.’_  

“So are you, White.” 

 

* * *

 

_“Hold on to your heart_    
_'Cause_ _I'm coming to take it_    
_Hold on to your heart_    
_'Cause_ _I'm coming to break it”_  

_Florence and The Machine, Hardest of Hearts._  

 


	2. Greetings spoiled with Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a moment of fickle peace, Black Diamond's emergence provokes mixed reactions. What follows is a recollection of her first interactions with Homeworld, her subjects, and the other Diamonds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who commented or otherwise interacted with the first chapter - thank you. I still don't have a clue about what I am doing, but thank you. And, to everyone who will read this present chapter, I ask for a little bit of patience so that I may clarify a few things. 
> 
> If you are new to the Steven Universe fandom, you may not remember a time when the Diamonds were yet to be officially part of the canon show. They were little more than murals on the moon base, back then, so a lot of character discussion was based on speculation and head-canons. With time we got to know Blue and Yellow, but White and Pink (and what would be their relationship) remained a mystery for a while longer. It was because of this big question mark that part of the fandom began to create and share their own versions of the two unrevealed Diamonds, coming up with stories and drama and angst on their own. 
> 
> Black Diamond, who is one of the tools I will use to craft the dialogue and plot, is greatly inspired by what some of us (myself included) thought that Pink Diamond would be - a mercurial, seductive, ingenious queen who had the other three Diamonds wrapped around her finger. A Marie Antoinette of sorts, able to get into everyone's heads, yet still a slave to her powers and her Empire. I really wanted to come back to this quartet dynamic, partially due to nostalgia, but also so that I could explore how it would change under canon Pink Diamond's influence (and after the events of Change Your Mind). 
> 
> Having said all of that, I hope that you enjoy this chapter!

_“All I ever wanted was the world_  
_I can't help but I need it all_  
_The  primadonna  life, the rise and fall”_

_Marina and The Diamonds  –  Primadonna_

 

* * *

 

Oh, but she really is beautiful. She offers Black her hand as the ground under them shakes violently and gives in. She seems unfazed with the brutality of it all, as if she has seen it a thousand times over, as if it is perfectly acceptable that the hems of her cape drag over coal and ashes, as if the emergence has not just sealed the fate of a thousand different lifeforms that inhabited the so-called barren planet. She offers her hand as if she is the only thing that matters, and Black takes it without a second thought.  

 

* * *

 

Blue does not know what to expect. In fact, she has gone out of her way to create no expectations at all, lest she come across another disappointment. She still tries not to think of Pink. Of how the weeks preceding her emergence had been marked with all manner of celebration, rather than guilt-ridden crisis consultations and somber war councils. How she then had not only Yellow by her side, but also White. The three of them had been present for the event, grins concealed under formality, very unlike White’s lonely and apprehensive descent to D-315. The comparisons hurt badly, though even if she would prefer to keep them away from her mind, Blue can do nothing other than clasping her hands. She can’t help remembering. Pink had been so innocent, back then, clinging to her skirts or demanding to be held in Yellow’s palm. There was much she did not know despite her rank as a Diamond, and so Blue could barely contain her joy in answering each and every question, no matter how silly or obvious the answer would have been. Of course, time wore this enthusiasm down to annoyance after a few thousand years, for the most part because Pink’s questions became more accusatory with each day. Why do we have to kill them? Why do we have to take over? Why are you being so horrible to me? 

Do you hate me? 

No, she did not. In fact, Blue loved her so much that she would give up her crown if it meant she could change the answers to Pink’s last questions. Making amends with Steven had given her a minimum amount of closure, but the end of the story was not to be altered. Pink was gone. And now, with the wound still freshly-cut, a new gem threatened to take her place.  

Unlike she would have done before, Blue made sure to prepare for this. Hours were spent talking to Yellow, or to White, or to Steven, or even to her own Pearl, who appeared to have an astonishing amount of advice in regards to her mistress’ emotional outbursts. Blue would not say she was completely ready to have this particular first meeting, nor that she ever would be, but she found comfort in the fact that Yellow was standing next to her, possibly twice as nervous and twice as dazzling.  

When the time came, however, it felt like all of the preparation had been thrown out of the window, to be swept out into space and be lost forever. Blue allowed herself to tear up. She was, thank the stars, nothing like Pink. She was sharply-cut lines and grasping penumbra, mist and clouds, fire and velvet. Only a look and a smile are enough to tell that she is dangerous. Blue envelops her in a hug anyway, murmuring her praises and welcomes as the two other Diamonds watch on. White obsessively dusts off her garments. Yellow does not comment on it.  

 

* * *

 

Yellow, on the other hand, knows exactly what to expect. She has all of the kindergarten reports thoroughly read and annotated, with the most important passages neatly memorized for easier access.  Whereas Blue and White had been worried about  **who**  their new companion would be, and in extension how she would impact their zone of comfort, Yellow made damn sure she knew exactly  **what**  she was doomed to deal with. Sure, it was not an exact science by any means. Taking data about the surrounding soil, calculating pressure and temperature variations, then plugging it all into the complex software she had scribbled in her main computer was a rough attempt at predicting the resulting characteristics, but it did give her somewhat of an idea of what she would be like. Tall, from the cubic volume occupied beneath the ground. Physically strong, from the heat and pressure she was born under. And, to White’s utter dismay, full of impurities, from the chemical composition of her gemstone.  

So, yes, Yellow knows exactly what to expect. That does not mean she is any less nervous than Blue, whose eyes are already glossing over, or any less anxious than White, who had also looked like she was at the brink of tears before departing. She simply is better at hiding it, standing with her hands clutched behind her, mentally listing all of the ways in which the new Diamond will theoretically differ from Pink. Pink was lovable by nature, which the new Diamond is not. Pink was small. Pink was frail. Pink was... Never mind. It is definitely easier than to think about all of the similarities that they share between them. The same similarities that become increasingly evident when White brings her into the room, freshly-clad in ornate garments, the scent of fire and roses enveloping every inch of available space. Blue is at her at once, offering care like an old friend, and with a bit of reluctance Yellow finds herself in a similar position.  

Yellow is mostly ready to move on from this revolution. A new Diamond, paired with the accord with the rebels, is the right push they need in order to bring in a new era for the Authority. With resources slowly returning to acceptable levels, her army will once again have the means to assume an offensive position and take on the threatened borders near the Gaian sector. A few more battalions for her to command and she could conquer it all within a week. Give the new Diamond a whole galaxy of her own, for all Yellow could care. A very small part of her, however, the most hypocrite of parts, is not willing to begin with an entirely new page. Blue and White are finally moving on, and suddenly Yellow has no more reason to think about the long-lived past. Only the present, with all its consequences.  

That is when Black smiles up at her, dimples and all, and the conflict between similarities and differences strikes a war within Yellow’s heart.  

 

* * *

 

Crystal palaces and marble walls are nothing like smoke and magma. Everything that surrounds her is cleanly-cut, smooth, and sharp, bright reflective surfaces that mirror her image as she strides past a hallway or corner. Saturated in color and value, warm tangerine and cool turquoise, light and light and nothing but light. Her shadows bring an evident contrast to it all, sweeping around corners and dragging behind her footsteps. Black Diamond stands out in the grandness of Homeworld, and she loves it. The few hours that followed her emergence seem closer to a distant memory by this point, tiny fragments webbed together with a myriad of newly-discovered sensations. Warmth, predominantly, but also tenderness and curiosity. Her skin prickles as she recalls Blue’s salted tears pressed against her cheek, the softness of her robes underneath Black’s fingertips, or the humming of static electricity resulting from Yellow’s stiff (though still kind) embrace. Most notoriously, Black remembers White’s painted lips, soft on her forehead, and the way her entire body had ached to absorb more light. Her fellow Diamonds’ thoughts had been scattered and jumbled, difficult for Black to piece together, but she felt that they were generally glad of her existence. Blue had been vocal about it, at the very least, even if her elegant praises concealed how taken back she really was. Black had everything to do with Pink, while simultaneously being nothing like her at all. Full of contradictions, that much was certain. Yellow was harder to read, her emotions being more tactile than legible. White, who had been very loud with her thoughts when they had first met, was now almost unreachable.  

Nevertheless, pacing around her new kingdom, Black entertains herself by listening to her subjects. She has not been formally introduced yet – a ball has been scheduled for such matter – but it only takes a brief look at her proud gemstone for it to become evident who she is. Well, that and her towering stature, a visible deal taller than Blue and Yellow. The little gems salute, or bow, or burst into tears. Black can see the relief in their minds. In some cases, even hope. She has no other choice but to smile and thank them for their loyalty, raw as a bleeding cut, though something within tells her that it is just what she deserves. She pays a visit to the training grounds, where quartz soldiers sent from White’s colonies are being prepared to form her guard, the Agates’ unforgiving eyes installing discipline without as much as a shout. They had shown off their impressive whips to the new Diamond, both too proud and too terrified to guard their thoughts, and Black had commended them on their discipline. Soldiers and generals alike lower their heads as Black’s pointed heels move in front of them, giving Black a good look at the beads of sweat that cling to their hair. She hardly believes a gem that could fit comfortably in her palm would be much good at protecting her, even if armed to their teeth, so Black muses on how else they may be put to good use. Gloves to keep dirt from staining her hands, she supposes.  

With most gems busy with their tasks, the streets of Homeworld soon become a dull place for Black. A Pearl’s poetry is pleasant to the ears, yes, and a Zircon’s knowledge surely seems impressive to her fellow gems, but with so much information pre-wired into her brain, Black has trouble finding said pastimes intellectually engaging. She wishes she could go back to Blue and Yellow’s company, even if it means they will try to teach her something she has already learnt by heart, but they have responsibilities and schedules and colonies to care for. Speaking of which, it took less than 0.89 seconds of conversation with the other Diamonds for Black to realize that she would not come into possession of a colony any time soon. She knew better than to press on the subject (or rather, to bring it up at all). White Diamond, on the other hand, appears set on avoiding Black like the plague. Dead silence from her part. This behavior is the most illogical Black has come across so far, especially considering how... Welcoming she had been right after Black’s emergence. If it continues, Black decides she will write down a decision tree in order to select the correct approach.  

“... And that is how N-P89 was converted from a dry-rock supplier to a wet one! Would you like me to elaborate on the research project that led to such results, my Diamond?... My Diamond?...” 

Oh, she had been ignoring the poor Zircon. How rude, yet predictable. One look at the holoscreens told Black she still had much time to kill.  

“No, that is quite enough... Exposition for one evening. I am sure you have more important matters to attend to. Now, do tell me, is there anything else other than literature and academia for me to enjoy? Something of a lonely activity, perhaps?” 

The constant murmur of the other Zircons brainstorming in the room nearby is getting tiresome. 

The Zircon, believing that her lengthy explanations were not clear enough and thus fearing she is about to be shattered, gives Black a nervous laughter and paws at her scarf.  

“I-I... Yes, my Diamond! There is... No, you wouldn’t... Well...” 

Her thoughts are too loud, too anxious. Black can feel the Zircon take a roundabout and almost suggest a trip to the one of the Sky Spires, but she stops her in her tracks.  

“An observatory? Pray tell more.” 

Great, now she is even more scared.  

“A military facility, my Diamond. Not the most refined of places, from what I hear. With the shard technology of the last two eras, it has gone into disuse. I am afraid it would be unsuitable for a gem of your status.” 

“Then I really must pay it a visit.”  

 

* * *

 

Star-charts are better evaluated in darkness. White doesn’t mind too much that her gemstone is the only source of light in a dome of tinted glass, though it makes reaching for the correct commands in the control panel a trial-and-error ordeal. She knows she could probably leave this task to any available technician. Hell, even her Pearl could do it without batting an eyelash. She is procrastinating, she knows. The little human is supposed to arrive soon, accompanied by all of the gems she no longer has the right to command, and White wishes to spend every single spare second until she has to greet him without having to face how fast everything is changing. Abandoned observatories are the perfect location for that. Surrounded by technology as ancient as her. Stars, she knows she should be relieved. Happy, even. She knows, but that is not the case, and the other Diamonds are too bitter of a reminder. In a matter of hours, White will stride down the arrival gate with her chin lifted, clear mind and straight posture as the empress she is. She will be pleasant, she will be charismatic, she will be genuine. She will be herself, or at least the closest to it she can currently manage. She will exceed expectations and they will have all of her attention, but for now she clings to solitude with teeth and nails.  

“It really is a shame stars must die out. They’re wonderful to look at.” 

Black’s voice has a raspy quality to it. Burning, scorching even, though barely above a whisper. White is only startled by it because of the otherwise silence that engulfs the room, and even so it only takes her a split-second to suffocate the surprise from her system and put on a calm demeanor. She turns around, cape swirling languidly around her, the taste of volcanic smoke lingering in her tongue. Black blends into the shadows that overtake the space. Her eyes are the only thing that stands out, blazing silver in a pool of ink, ever just as focused as the day of her emergence, when they had been directed at White and not at the surrounding destruction. Imperious and mercurial.  

“Permanence tends to dull our feelings. You wouldn’t feel so awed about stars if they stayed forever the same.” 

Even if her body is turned towards her, White’s attention does not leave the screen cradled in her hands.  

“I disagree. What is beautiful can be beautiful by nature. That will not change, except perhaps for the viewer of said beauty.” 

Black wants attention. Moving forward until the tip of her pointed heel is barely an inch away from the draping hem of White’s skirt, she makes sure she gets it.  

“... Hello, White.” 

“How are you, Black? I do hope Homeworld has been treating its new queen well. Hospitality may not be one of our specialties, but this is your home, after all.” 

She sets the star-chart aside. Her words are charitable, honey-coated, and rehearsed, but the way her arms cross over her chest, with painted nails digging into marble skin, and the light frown that clouds her expression are a clear indication of the impenetrable walls White has constructed around herself. Black feels her chest tighten with frustration, sore and tangy, though she has not the mind to pinpoint the exact cause to it. Instead, she mirrors the smile White has offered and the sweetness of her words.  

“Oh, I am quite sure I will fit right in. It all feels familiar, somehow. Like I read all about it in a storybook.” 

That seems enough to trigger genuine curiosity. In a rehearsed motion, just like before, one of White’s hands lets go of the bruised skin and rests upon Black’s cheek. The affection is overpowered by the impersonal sense of it all.  

“A storybook... You are knowledgeable, are you not, dearest Black?” 

“I am different from you, if that is what you ask. But yes, I am.” 

Her own hand has reached to grab White’s, initially with the intention to yank it away from her face. Where she expected a glacial touch, she only finds lukewarm silk, and so decides to let it go as it is. Her smile falters when their gazes intersect. White immediately looks out at the sky.  

“Are you scared at all? Little starlight was. Terrified, if I recall correctly. So were Yellow and Blue, even if to a smaller degree.” 

“Were you?” 

“Of course not. I was not meant to be.” 

Black gets a glimpse inside. Quick as a flash of lightening, unreadable as a wisp of vapor. Incriminating. 

“Neither am I - meant to be scared, terrified, or anxious, that is – though I am very much perplexed. Our subjects have a tendency to simply let their thoughts out in the open, without so much as a care, begging for me to listen, even when I do not want to, meanwhile you lock yourself away and dare not be in the same room as me. You’re silent. On purpose.” 

She is a Diamond. Her prose is meant to dominate. In response, White withdraws her touch and stands back, shutting off the observatory’s servers with a harsh snap of her fingers. Black doesn’t need to read her mind to understand she has every intention of leaving.  

“Your tone strikes me as hostile, dear. Have I not a right to my privacy?” 

Caustic, like sodium hydroxide poured in water. White wishes for a fight, one that will allow her to use her position to the fullest extent, one whose terms and conditions will put Black at a natural disadvantage. White is experienced at being an antagonist, even if never by choice. It will not be commendable, and she will most definitely hate herself for it, but it will give her the privacy she craves. Unfortunately, Black is not fond of conflict. Instead, her voice drops in tone, leaving behind the saccharine it had acquired for the density of storm clouds before a tempest. She doesn’t touch White, would not dare to, preferring instead to approach in self-disciplined manner. 

“I am not sure such terms apply to me. My nature tells me otherwise of what you believe. Perhaps that is the issue - besides the fact that I am a Diamond, none of you three seem to know what part in this empire I am supposed to play. Blue and Yellow treat me like I am made of glass, ready to shatter at the lightest touch, and you won’t look at me.” 

Honesty was her strong suit. White remains stoic, eyes fixated somewhere beyond them, so Black takes the opportunity to proceed.  

“Calling me inexperienced, that I understand. I don’t know Homeworld, nor Blue, nor Yellow, nor you. I have the greatest collection of information engraved into the core of my nature, but practice is different from theory. What I do know, however, is myself.” 

The light of her form is straining to look at. She holds White’s gaze with only a little pain.  

“I am not meant to be alone, White. Don’t run from me, please.” 

Despite what their social-chemical programming may tell, they are still strangers. Had this phrase been shared centuries into the future, once White’s dainty mouth has left harsh bruises all along Black’s neckline and Black takes her mandatory naps in the comfort of her lap, White would have very clearly (and emotionally) explained how one of the few gems she loved had faked her own shattering only to get away from her. How she had grieved, and cried, and then pretended everything could be mended back to perfection. How that fantasy had been torn apart after a series of unforgivable mistakes. How reality is confusing and unfamiliar.  

But they are strangers, and White can only make peace with herself so fast. So Black does not get the full picture, not yet. All she gets is a step in the right direction. 

“I’m not going anywhere. We do have a greetings procession to attend, do we not?” 

 

* * *

 

“You say that I'm kinda difficult   
But it's always someone else's fault” 

 

* * *

 

“Navy or teal?” 

Blue’s chambers have an intrinsic echo. Whatever is said, whisper or otherwise, bounces off from wall to wall, sounding like a choir of a million little creatures that repeat your words. The same effect applies to the water droplets that fall from the ceiling from time to time, making it sound like a fountain is located nearby. Yellow, uncovered fingers tangled in Blue’s damp hair, is too occupied with untying knots and smoothing locks to hear Blue’s question.  

“Huh?” 

“The bracelets, Yellow. Which do you prefer?” 

She runs four fingers through her hair all at once, travelling from the crown of Blue’s head to the nape of her neck, then down past her shoulder blades to the dip of her back, where the strand she just brushed curls into a satisfactory curl. Yellow finds Blue’s reflection in the vanity’s mirror, bright and clear and perfect. There is a smile in her face, probably due to how focused Yellow had been in her affections. 

“Teal would clash with the color of your robes.” 

Yellow says it matter-of-factually, as she does with most things. Eyes rolling with shallow annoyance, Blue leans further into Yellow’s touch, pressing the back of her skirts to the firmness of Yellow’s leather trousers. Her matching boots lay discarded to the side, along with her trusty gloves and polished helmet. She looks less imperial in this state, with her trimmed hair sticking up at awkward places and bare feet planted on the ground, but also completely radiant from Blue’s perspective. They haven’t had true free time like this in centuries, and oh how much they needed it. Once Black has settled in and things go back on track, Blue muses, she will make sure to add leisure time permanently to their schedules. In abundance, even, if White lets her get away with it (and if Yellow stops feeling guilty for taking a break).  

“Yes, I suppose it would, but it would also perfectly match those cufflinks I gave you. You will wear them, won’t you?” 

Yellow lights up at the mention, placing both hands around Blue’s waist and her chin over her shoulder.  

“Of course I will. I had my outfit prepared for weeks. Even had a new jacket with gold hems designed.” 

Her answer earns her a nimble kiss. Blue is soft and welcoming and overwhelming, any minor touch or laugh of hers enough to drive Yellow to the brink of tears. Yellow believes she is too rough for someone like Blue, who thrives in the fluidity of water, and yet she dares anyway to hold her close and not let go. Blue, on the other hand, thinks her emotions are a burden Yellow should not have to bear, and so wrapping her arms around Yellow and sinking her teeth in the velvety skin at the base of her neck is an act of selfishness, plain and simple. With their personal demons causing a ruckus in their minds, they fail to see how impeccably they match.  

The moment is stretched and well-spent between them. Thankfully Blue has seen the sketches for Yellow’s formal attire, so she thoughtfully contours the neckline with love bites and kisses, leaving behind a patch of orange-tinted tender flesh. In return, Yellow grants her swollen lips and wrinkled robes. If they didn’t have to go welcome Steven later on, the remaining clothes would likely have joined Yellow’s boots by the foot of the divan. There is, as with anything done multiple times, a certain routine to their dance. Getting as close as possible without actually becoming one. Touching, but not blending. Not fusing. Blue and Yellow, not Green. These are two separate experiences, each with its appropriate time, each with its undeniable value. Both cherished, and certainly both frowned upon by good society, or so they assume.  

As per usual, Yellow muffles her roars into the curve of Blue’s chest. They remain immovable, still attached, for a few more beats, tasting the thick air as Blue’s sobs die down into a relaxed sigh. Her hair is, once again, in complete disarray. Switching into a more comfortable position, Yellow gets a good eyeful of the faded zig-zagged scars that travel down Blue’s torso.  

“Does it hurt still?” 

It’s hard to even get the words out.  

Blue carries those marks with the same proudness she carries all marks left by Yellow. This leaves Yellow even more mortified.  

“Probably just as much as those bruises I left on your arms. I am fine, dear. Please don’t beat yourself up about it.” 

True to what Blue said, Yellow’s wrists have an angry redness to them, marking where Blue had slapped her during their fight. Diamonds rarely poof, so the petty injuries they carry must be healed over time. The fact that they even remained for so long is merely psychological.  

“I just can’t forgive myself for acting so horribly to you.” 

“My behavior was just as bad as yours, but you already forgave me, correct? And we both forgave White. Even Steven and his friends have forgiven us. There is no reason to dwell on it.” 

Pretentiousness and fondness are both in Blue’s nature. She surely is a hypocrite for saying such things, but Yellow is too in love to be bothered by it.  

“When did you become the sensible one?” 

“When I realized I shouldn’t let the weight of the Empire fall just on your shoulders. Start moving forward, stop looking back.” 

Their hands are entwined. This feels right.  

“But there is a use to feeling, Blue.” 

“Yes. Yes, there is.” 

One more kiss wouldn’t hurt, would it? 

 

* * *

 

Late. Of course they are. She knows not to expect any differently, as their track record shows an evident pattern of behavior, yet it does not make the cross any lighter to bear. A small commotion has gathered around the arrival dock. The aristocratic gems are waiting to her left, a mix of blue and yellow and red and white, all of the little forms pressed against one another in an attempt to see better. They are excited, yes, but it hardly excuses their lack of etiquette. White takes a long breath, then another, and another. In and out, a feeble attempt to quiet her shaking hands. She can see the shadows from the corner of her vision. 

Out in the open, standing so close, Black looks like she can take the universe for her own. The small contrasts in her outfit are much clearer in this setting. The smooth velvet that flows from her bodice down her skirts, draping over each curve and line with purposeful intent. The small pieces of glass that decorate the hems. The thin, translucent fabric that covers her shoulders. Cleaned from the volcanic residues, her hair slicks back from her forehead in a voluminous loop, leaving her sharp gemstone exposed and vainglorious. Her eyes, unlike before, are distant, and there is a distinct look of disenchant that taints her expression.  

Thinking back to their previous conversation, White notices how loud the crowd has become over the last few minutes. Black must be in pain, White concludes. She is about to silence her subjects when Blue and Yellow make their way down the hangar bay, splitting the agglomerated crowd as their subjects stare in awe and salute. Blue’s dress is high-collared, which Black does not fail to point out in a breathy whisper next to White’s cheek, a distraction from the superfluous noise. White manages a quiet laugh while simultaneously not flinching.  

The Diamonds have just enough time to exchange greetings before Pink’s, or rather Steven’s ship breaks the atmosphere, fast approaching the landing dock amidst a collective of loud cheers and four distinct anxious intakes of breath. Whereas the Quartzes would usually be the ones to exit first, both as a protective measure and as a way to pay respect, the little half-human opens the ship’s door with a bright smile. His court of off-colors follows behind as he meets each Diamond with a hug (to below the knee, but he means well) and a small trinket (“Always bring the host a gift!”, he explains, very proud of his manners). Yellow gets a holodrive filled with human audiobooks, ones that narrate the stories of the greatest military leaders the Earth has ever seen. Blue also receives a holodrive, though hers contains a collection of instrumental songs Steven thinks she would enjoy. White is gifted a swimming pool’s worth of red nail polish (“I got it from the Internet! Pearl showed me how to paint my nails, I bet she can teach you, too!). White is suspicious of the color, but accepts it nevertheless.  

Lastly, he approaches Black with a little more cordiality, empty-handed.  

“Hi, I’m Steven. We’ve never met before, but we’re family.” 

His thoughts are just as warm as his voice. Black takes his words with meticulous attention, reaching into the encyclopedia of her mind until a small fraction of her world clicks into place. Family. Yes, family. She mirrors his warmth, unsure of what else to do.  

“Hello, Steven. You may call me Black.” 

Nobody else realizes this, not even White, but the fact that Steven’s gemstone tells a story of its own, a tale full of love and heartbreak, is most unusual. She has no opportunity to ask him about it, however, because their entourage soon begins to march towards the center of the capital, opening a corridor within the sea of cheers and spectators. 

There is little order to it, unlike the procession that had taken place shortly after Black’s arrival on Homeworld. The Earth gems are quick to befriend their stiffer counterparts, mingling about as the crowd moves forward in a swirl of color, gems of every station forgetting about their differences for the sake of celebration. Steven entertains Yellow and Blue with his most recent anecdotes on helping the healed gems adapt to their new home, the both Diamonds keeping their pace slow to spare him from having to run too much. Yellow adds few of her own stories along the way, the ones she knows Blue is particularly fond of. 

Black listens with half an ear, half-smile on her face, fascinated with the sudden energy that has filled the air. Despite the novelty of it all, she languidly delays every step or so, pretending to become caught up in a particular story or a certain nearby building in order to stay close to White, who has her arms crossed and lips pursed. Black waits until a distance has formed between them and the rest of the group before purposefully approaching her.  

“Aren’t you interested in hearing the stories? I might not know what a ‘beach concert’ is, but it does seem exciting.” 

“Oh, I am sure you will get to experience one for yourself soon enough. They are quite  _endearing_.” 

Ever since their conversation at the observatory, White has made a point of looking exactly at Black. Her attention is heavy, pressing, as if she is sure to make a judgement over each breath and blink of eyes, sizing up every action like a master supervises an unruly apprentice. She gives Black the same look that had once caused Blue to choke up, Yellow to grit her teeth, and Pink to swallow back tears, yet it does little more than elicit a sharp intake of air from Black’s part. If conquering is the core nature of Diamonds, craving affection is a close second. Here this need manifests, hidden from the naked eye, whispering in a tone loud enough to fuel the remainder of their interaction.  

“What about a ‘stage musical’? Ever been to one of those?” 

“No, but have no doubt that Steven will show you if you ask him.” 

“Can’t you? Show me things, that is.” 

The small talk is always an excuse to take matters to a certain point. A question so innocently asked contrasts terribly with the sobriety that has washed over Black, an unconscious reaction she would later learn to suppress. It catches White off guard, her eyes immediately snapping to the two other Diamonds who walk ahead, lips somewhat stuck between expressing annoyance or amusement.  

“Steven is more qualified than I when it comes to Earth, my dear.” 

“That may be true, but I can already tell I prefer your company to his.” 

The little human was not the only one to periodically glance at their direction, curiosity regarding their conversation overflowing from his mind like excessive bubbles on a bath. Yellow even has a knowing look upon her face. She hides it before Black can catch on. White notices it, as she always does, but the sincerity of Black’s words and the lingering awareness she so unabashedly offers to White her keep her from feeling bothered by it. In fact, it feels very much correct, something so rare these days that White unexpectedly finds a new balance to herself, straightening personality and demeanor to standards from before  _that_  particular disaster had taken place. 

“You’re certain to hurt his feelings, though I am flattered.” 

“Is this a yes?” 

Could it be? Should it be? 

“... It is.” 

From Black’s perspective, all of White’s actions are intimidatingly glamorous and elegant. That is not to say, however, that the way she grinned after a stunned Black blinked a few too many times carried an ordinary amount of poise. Black was sure she was testing her luck by acting like this, specially twice in a day, so to have the outcome be better than she could expect left her unsure on how to proceed. Not a clue, really. Since no protocol was available for the situation, she opted for walking in a misplaced silence until the procession had reached the main courtyard of Pink’s former palace. Appointing it as a place of festivity, that way restoring a portion of the life it once held, seemed like a suitable way of honoring its late owner. Parties there were lively, anarchic, and altogether very human. Just how Pink would have loved. Grief far away from her heart, Black alternates between admiring the architecture and reveling in the admiration she receives from the subjects she finds on her path.  

White also spends her trip admiring. Not arches or murals, obviously, but rather how the youthfulness she had misread as childishness is not inherent to Black’s nature. The disregard of barriers, the rawness, the honesty. With Yellow and Blue, their personal flaws had overshadowed any sort of immature tendencies in the earliest years. White had been entirely too concerned with training them to act correctly (as if there was ever such a thing, she now remarks) to separate what came from newness from what was nature. With Pink, being capricious was part of the flaw. Logic dictates that Black should be the most flawed of them, for the impurities in her gemstone absorb all spectrum of light that crosses it, leaving behind nothing but a hole of shadows. It can’t be helped - she will take too much from everyone. She will destroy.  

And the greatest part is that White can’t see it. Beyond the naiveté that will soon wear off, White is ignorant of all the defects, the smalls cracks that tarnish a polished surface. Too much power in too frail hands. All she knows is that her instincts tell her something is wrong, so she finds the littlest of issues to blame and rids her conscience of it. Blind to it all, White calls her almost perfect. Unlike the other three Diamonds who, more often than not, recoiled subconsciously from her care, Black seeks it. And White, too love-starved to see the danger in it, obliges.  

“So, tell me what is on your mind?” 

Black only has a reason to pose this question to White, since she is the one gem she isn’t forced to constantly hear. There is a nice ring to it, like it is personal, and flows easily out her tongue.  

“Later, perhaps. It is time we join the others. Here, come with me.” 

White does not know what comes over her. Perhaps it was the influence of Steven’s presence, or Blue’s emotions flowing over those in the room, or a sudden lack of sense. Whatever it was, it made her offer her hand in a courteous act. Black takes it without thinking twice, the light and the shadow blending to mid-tone where they touch.  

 

* * *

 

 _“Got you wrapped around my finger, babe_  
_You can count on me to misbehave ”_

_Marina and The Diamonds - Primadonna_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, Steven should create a club for people who are expected to fill Pink's shoes.


	3. Our Hearts Are at Odds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When peace suddenly begins to dissolve in the lukewarm state of the Empire, the reactions vary. Some worry, some are blissfully ignorant, and some just laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard chapter to write, and I cannot say I am entirely proud of it. However, I knew that I had to get through it in order to make it to where I need to go, and so here we are. The backbone plot begins to show itself, albeit slowly, and the many facets of each character had to come up in either dialogue or description, making this a lengthy one.
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who interacted with this story so far! Your support left me without words. As I mentioned before, this is my first creative project in a while, so finding the correct process for my writing has been a bit of a challenge. I am glad that what I have managed to come up with so far has been enjoyable, and can only ask for your patience as I work my way along this story.
> 
> I will try to make some time in between classes to study the source material a bit more, so in the meantime I recommend you make a cup of your beverage of choice and enjoy what is to come.

_“Dressed up to the eyes_

_It's a wonderful surprise_

_To see your shoes and your spirits rise_

_Throwing out your frown_

_And just smiling at the sound”_

_-“Friday I’m in love” by The Cure._

 

* * *

 

No great empire is born without bloodshed. Some rulers are more benevolent than others, some are able to care for the needs of their people without compromising their nation’s glory, and some become blind with power. There are many ways in which a ruler will serve their empire, and the moral implications of such servitude will vary greatly with each situation. A good ruler, however, knows that sacrifices will be made. The Diamond Authority is no different. To a certain degree, the rebels’ ideology is correct. The Diamonds have taken part in unnecessary bloodshed, sometimes in an act of ignorance, sometimes in an act of selfishness. Yellow’s army is both admired and feared across the galaxies. Blue’s war strategies have put many a planet under deadly checkmate. White’s judgement is final, even outside the domains of her Empire. Gemkind was born to conquer. Asking otherwise of them, no matter how kindly you put it, is innocent at best and idiotic at worst. So, yes, Steven’s arguments have a point, and the rebellion has its weight, but this realm is not one fitted for miracles.

That is why the small scouter ship that thought it would be a good idea to cross one of Yellow’s sectors without permission is in for a nasty surprise. Blocked, ripped to scraps, and its crew taken as prisoners. The Agates will have a blast beating the information out of them, piece by piece, word by word, and by the time the full report is delivered to the empresses, the Diamonds are enjoying a nice pool bath by themselves, while their rebel guests tour a newly-constructed arena.

Blue is the only one who pays it any mind, and simply so that she can comment, laugh already in her smile, on how dull the strategy master must be, to risk such a move for such small loot.

“I can only pity the idiot in charge. But, please, let’s leave these grim topics for another moment. This week is for celebration”, White responds.

Her bathing suit is composed of sheets and sheets of a thin, pale fabric, wrapped and sewn together to form a glittering bodice. Submerged in water, the long sheets stay afloat, giving her the appearance of an all-powerful goddess of the classical tales, one who decided to go for a swim after pestering two or three mortals for a laugh. Her hair, heavy and loose from its usual style, hangs atop her shoulders, altering her usual pointed silhouette to a more relaxed form.  Her voice remains ever as satiny, like spiced wine paired with delicate pastries.

“You’re right. Speaking of that, I hope that Steven’s party tomorrow will be less eventful than the last.”

Blue is sat next to Yellow, as expected, but her attention is evenly distributed between the other three Diamonds. In her element, she exchanges the usual worry that taints her words for a sort of carefree smugness, tearing down her past image of a joyless and grieving mother for that of a nonchalant queen. Her lover is similarly clad in confidence and luxury, arms draped across the border of the pool, though centuries of military practice have permanently drilled a rigidness to her movements. The good side of it is that, in the case of a sudden ambush, Yellow would not need a second more to spring right into combat. Since there is no need for such drastic measures, she settles for conversation.

“I believe what happened last time was entirely our fault, Blue. Though considering what he was saying about having a live performance, I fear we may be in for an untamed night, one way or another.”

“Oh, but we haven’t had a proper ball in so long! And a debutante one, no less.”

The exasperation in Yellow’s words is a mere fabrication, and it drops almost immediately once Blue’s cheerful chatter echoes around them. The two of them exchange looks, of the kind that only beloveds can decipher, then extend their smiles to White, who very suddenly has the urge to stand up and go reapply her makeup (never mind the fact that it was waterproof to begin with). Black watches the three-way interaction with the intention of a researcher, taking note of every small reaction and trying to find its correspondent meaning in the background knowledge she possesses. It proves ineffective, albeit entertaining. She also has very little choice in listening to the internal dialogue Blue is having about Yellow, and Yellow is having about Blue, and that both are having to themselves about the uttermost diverse topics. After all, love and romance aren’t all there is. There is also war, and crisis, and revolution, and a million other small things the mind can come up with while you’re not paying attention. Black, the poor thing, is painfully aware of all of those, but finds that mentioning it would be even more tiresome. They allow a few seconds for the intimate moment to dissolve in the warm water before resuming the conversation. For that, White turns a slightly-crooked smile to Black, who is sat essentially opposite to her.

“Are you excited, Black?”

White is genuinely curious. Perhaps it is the inherent nurturing tendencies she has fostered over the years, or maybe the more controlling side that decided to speak louder, but she does wish to understand what goes on in Black’s head. The question is delivered with the usual honeydew softness, and thus it reveals no obscure intentions.

“Adequately so, I suppose. History does seem to be split between characters who love social events and others who don’t. It makes it a bit difficult to have a certain guideline of behavior to follow.”

Like any other newborn gem, Black will usually default to her chemical programming when coming across new sensations and experiences. Unlike most newborn gems, however, Black’s programming is one of the greatest databases to ever exist, full of possibilities, which renders the entire system pointless in this brand of situation. So she twists her words to dodge the question, or she lies. It is a habit that will wear off, hopefully, but many a gem will be rendered confused in the meantime. Yellow, who can only vaguely recall the absurd amount of coding sequences that went into Black’s creation, very eloquently expresses her disorientation.

“Huh... Well, the good thing is that this ball will have almost no rules to observe. Quite a change of pace, really.”

“And marvelously so. We three will make it a night you will remember.”

White is the one to say it. She turns towards Black as she does so, provoking tiny ripples of water that spread in circles over the surface. Beneath the marble of her skin, across her breast and up her neck, splotches in pastel pink have appeared due to the heat of the water, though the blue tint of the pool makes everything look a bit purple.

“Yes.”

“Together.”

Both Blue and Yellow pipe in, looking at White in search of any sort of approval, and without warning Black gets for the first time the sensation of being an intruder in her own home. She hates it. Terribly so, to the point that her reaction is to over-correct herself in her demeanor. Her voice drops, only a bit, and her enunciation has every bit of impishness she can muster.

“How wonderful. You spoil me with affection, but I won’t complain.”

She has them, just like that. It is easier than she thought, and it makes her prouder than it should.

“My Diamonds, I apologize for interrupting, but the Moonstone and the Bismuth have arrived to take Black Diamond’s measurements. They await in the parlor.”

Blue Pearl’s voice is softer than a whisper, quiet and kind and obedient. Her words are nevertheless heard. She salutes them before heading back down the long set of stairs, where the two aforementioned artisans are feeling each other up and down to pass the time. 

“Maybe we all should-”

Yellow starts with a suggestion. Black stands up before she can continue, heavy droplets cascading down her legs and arms like a waterfall of indigo paint, skin too hot compared to the coldness of the air.

“No, please continue to enjoy yourselves. I can manage on my own.”

“Are you sure, Black? It wouldn’t be any trouble for us.”

“She is sure”, White interferes before Blue also decides to stand up. A beat passes, then White offers them an elegant smile. “Go on, dear. We will meet you later for some tutoring.”

Black leaves with a nod. Silence envelops the poolroom, but only for a moment. Settling back down into the water and returning to her lounging position, Yellow watches the downwards stairway with the eyes of a military leader, harsh gaze and makeup only slightly softened by the humidity.

“She is peculiar, that one... Made of smoke, yet somehow more solid than any of us.”

Her voice is not accusatory, though it does carry more concern than the previous conversation warranted. As Yellow speaks, Blue moves closer, fingers lightly tracing the dampened cotton of Yellow’s blouse, Blue’s head neatly tucked underneath her chin. White busies herself with rinsing and combing through her own hair, but keeps listening.

“I’m not sure if peculiar is the word to describe her. She is quiet. Not shy, though, not at all. What do you make of her, White?”

The less concerned out of the three, Blue’s voice is muffled against Yellow’s skin. To her, most things that are not problems in the present moment are not worth the time of day, possibly to avoid spilling unnecessary tears. Instead, Blue pours her energy into more pressing matters and, when the occasion allows, into Yellow. White turns the question around in her mind for a little while. Her reflection on the water surface stares back as she does so, atypically informal and tranquil, until she comes to a conclusion.

“She isn’t just smoke. She has fire, as well, of the sort that burns without mercy. We must keep a close eye on her, assure she does not get hurt.”

With the answer, the atmosphere shifts - away from the leisure of a pool towards the gravitas of a throne room. Yellow furrows her brows and dives into silent contemplation, while Blue bites her bottom lip, drawing the smallest amount of blood. Unable to find any sort of reassurance in White’s expression, she speaks up.

“You’re too harsh, White. It is not like she will make a mistake that will get herself shattered. Not even Pink managed that, and stars know she was careless sometimes.”

“Perhaps. But if our guidance falters and she falls, she will undoubtedly take us down with her. The Authority can’t take another blow like that, not now.”

White hasn’t been this honest in ages, and every word of it tightens in her chest before coming out of her mouth. Blue’s eyes have become teary by then, and Yellow finds it the adequate moment to step in, bringing both White and Blue to a more grounded state.

“Not ever, if I have any say in it. However, may I ask what prompted this sudden change of attitude? You seemed quite enamored with Black just a few evenings ago.”

The reflection stares at White once more. Smile, it tells her. Smile and shut up and pretend nothing is wrong. Fed up with it, White slaps her hand across the water, disturbing the surface and shattering the mirrored image of herself.

“... I was. And, to be wholeheartedly honest, I continue to be, the same way you two have already taken a fondness for her. My instinct, however, begs me to be cautious. That is why I pass on my judgement now, when our hearts are still clear, so that we don’t fuck up again.”

“White...”

“We have suffered enough, Blue. Is as simple as that.”

Another beat passes, one much more charged than the other. Very carefully, like a human who approaches a beast with no intention of killing, Yellow raises her eyes up to White’s. She realizes that there is understanding covered in gold.

“... Very well. We shall do as you say.”

Yellow cradles Blue’s shaking hands. White’s notions have planted fear into her heart, the most fertile soil for unfavorable emotions, but she finds the strength in herself to shake it all off.

“We will. Here.”

Grasping her surprised counterpart by her wrist, Blue guides Yellow to the side of the pool that White occupies. With Blue to her left and Yellow to her right, they resemble a misleading version of the insignia their Empire was built upon. Too flawed, too emotional, too dependent on its pillars. And, unknown to those outside the palace walls, too loving for their own good.

“You can’t fathom how much I missed this” is what White blurts out, very suddenly. Blue laughs in earnest as Yellow disguises a proud grin.

 

* * *

 

Black flaunts at her own reflection in the mirror. The movement shifts the measuring tape around her waist, losing track of the correct number, but the Bismuth does not voice her disapproval. Black knows of it anyways, taking note of the colorful language used with a bit of amusement. It is the second time someone has unintentionally called her a bitch today. Instead of feeling offended, however, Black teasingly lifts her chin towards the ceiling, giving any nearby gem a good eyeful of her cleavage. Added to the damp swimsuit, it is definitely overkill, and the unfortunate Moonstone, busy with fabric samples, does not have nearly enough willpower to cover up how she gawks, much less avert her gaze. Jealousy, when in others, leaves an ambrosial taste in Black’s tongue, and she revels in it. The entertainment is quick to fade, unfortunately, so Black goes searching for more trouble.

“Pearl, could I talk to those Gaian prisoners we captured?”

Blue’s Pearl, graciously borrowed for the time being, lets go of the outfit designs to speak with her. Like Black’s, her voice is soft, though it has none of the provocativeness.

“I’m afraid they have already been disposed of, my Diamond.”

“Next time, then. Please give the Agates my orders to keep them alive for a while longer in the future. And, Pearl?”

“Yes, my Diamond?”

Black turns back towards the mirror, neck still exposed.

“Let us make this a secret, shall we?”

A gem’s powers are an intrinsic portion of their being. It must be said, however, that not all of them develop at the same time. Some powers will only manifest after adequate training, others will be there ever since the emergence, and, in a few cases, they will be like an itch, begging to be scratched. Unreliable. Tempting. This is one of such cases. Black turns to the two artisans, White’s charming smile perfectly copied in her lips.

“I would suggest that the two of you forget about this conversation. Also, I prefer the lace to the silk.”

 

* * *

 

Surrounded by his ever-growing family, Steven is no longer wary of the streets of Homeworld. Sure, he has some bad memories here and there, but nothing that he can’t overcome by making better, more pleasant ones. Their visit to the arena is a good example of this. Steven is proud to see the Quartzes and the Amethysts and the Jaspers having fun among themselves, playing wrestle or what else, their thoughts a million miles away from the marks of corruption that scar their bodies. Even the Homeworld gems make a point of joining in, stitching together patches of free time in order to interact with their curious visitors, even if some of their relentless questions still carry a bit of prejudice (or, sometimes, ignorance) towards Earth and its rebellion. It isn’t their fault, he knows, and it is his responsibility to clear up misunderstandings. Amethyst does it without hesitance. Garnet does the same, even if the gems’ reactions sometimes make her flinch. Pearl, contrarily, is less accepting of their prejudice, and Steven can’t blame her if she comes across as hostile. There are only so many times a person can be asked about the whereabouts of their owner before snapping. When she does tell them who she is - the ballerina soldier, the knight, the ever-feared Renegade – they are quick to apologize, but the damage has already been done. To Steven, however, Pearl is just Pearl. The caring, selfless gem who sits by his side as he tries to regain his breath after running around in a game of tag, round blue eyes scanning over his squishy body for injuries almost by second-nature. A mother, in all senses but one.

“Pearl?”

“Yes, Steven?”

“Do you think that the Diamonds will be happier now that Black Diamond is here? I mean, I thought that by clearing up the issue with mom, everything would be better but... They seemed troubled yesterday, and I’m worried for them.”

If Amethyst and Garnet could have it their way, they would insist that Steven forget about Homeworld, that he do not pour his care and effort into helping the Authority. They would never tell him this directly, of course, but Pearl knows it. Steven does too, in his own way, and is eternally grateful for his family’s unconditional support. Despite the other Crystal Gems’ opinions, and even her own qualms, Pearl still believes that Homeworld is a part of Steven. Rose would have wanted him to see it under the light that is peace, even if she herself would never return. Rose resented the Authority, yes, but neither her nor Pearl would have wanted Steven to carry the same animosity. Because the Empire isn’t good, it isn’t bad, but it could be nice. That is why, when Steven opens up about his concerns regarding the Diamonds, Pearl sits him down and takes his hands.

“Oh, Steven. Things will take a while to become better, but they will. Little by little. Being a good leader is a hard thing to do, even for someone born for it, so it is normal that the Diamonds will be stressed about it. I bet they are having to question a lot about the Empire. And, who knows, maybe little will change.”

She diverts her gaze to the mayhem that is taking place only a few steps from them. Jasper is holding an arm-wrestling competition in the center of the arena. Her teal horns glitter in the light from underneath her mane of hair. The fourteenth competitor is sitting across from her, a Citrine from the Empire, and from the looks of it, the Citrine is about to have her arm slammed down on the makeshift table. Pearl allows herself a moment of appreciation before turning back to Steven, worrying that her words had upset him more than intended. But no. Steven keeps a calm stance and a light smile. Pearl takes a long breath before continuing.

“The important thing is that you gave them a choice. A chance to do better. The same applies to Black Diamond.”

At that, Steven nods and averts his gaze to the city around him. Skyscrapers, bridges, houses. If not for the endless energy that powers a forever-awake community, the pink-toned atmosphere visible in the horizon, or the living architecture, the capital could very well be a place on Earth. A place like Empire City, perhaps.

“You’re right, Pearl.”

They watch the playground for a while longer. It takes the Homeworld gems a moment to get situated, but once they are, the only thing that tells them apart is the insignia in their uniforms. Other than the soldiers, technicians and intellectuals and servants have gathered around, watching with curiosity as the Quartzes grab each at other's throats and laugh as they do it. When another Pearl comes over, petite and covered in tulle, nobody expects her to join in the fight, swooping a graceful leg underneath a Milky Quartz and knocking her to her ass in the most playful of manners. The Renegade half-expects the crowd to gasp in shock and break up the fight, and is surprised to see the Quartz grab the other Pearl by her offered hand, bringing her to the ground with honest mirth.

“They changed their mind, didn't they?”, Pearl says. Surprised, though not upset. Not even a little bit.

“Yep, Pearl. They did.”

 

* * *

 

“And what about these?”

Black points a nimble finger at the screen, where a list of foreign aircrafts is categorized by their features, pages upon pages of important military information that the Diamonds must be familiar with. Well, ‘familiar’ she already is, but there is a fair amount of details she is yet to come across, which is why she soaks up Yellow’s words with diligent curiosity.

“Ellian scouters. Pesky little things. Their size makes it hard to track them down, but they can be easily deactivated with sound-wave technology.”

“Can we do that to any of the other ships?”

“It depends on what they are made of. Ellian, Kyanatian, Stonefallian, and anything close to that should work. Gaian or Uronian? Hard to do.”

They are sitting in one of Yellow’s control rooms. Canary light tinges the many servers and computers that take up the space, all there for their functionality, with an exception for the large leather-like sofa that White currently occupies. Stretched out like a cat, heels dangling from the armrest, White is more invested in her hand-held mirror than in the conversation that takes place. She has a collection of headpieces laid out by her side, taking up most of Yellow’s desk, and she tries them on with the bored vanity only an empress could conjure up. Blue has other duties to attend to.

“But manageable”, concludes Black, finger scrolling through the additional information on the screen.

“If you’re willing to get your soldiers killed, sure.”

“Then the question is not whether we can do it, but rather if it is worth the sacrifice.”

Yellow has interacted with Black enough by now to expect this sort of response. The digging of the information, the pointing out of the loop-holes, the questioning of the morals. Black’s curiosity is cautiously aimed, and Yellow has no choice but to respect that. White switches a diadem for a tiara.

“You are right, in a sense. Knowingly sacrificing your soldiers to get loot or territory is stupidity at its finest. The only reason I can see to justify that would be if they were transporting someone strategically important, like a monarch or a general, but even that is pushing it. In cases like this, the priority goes to the strength in numbers.”

“Quartzes are expensive to make, dear. We shouldn't waste them over petty warfare”, White chimes in, adjusting a stray piece of hair so that it curls perfectly over her cheek.

“I would not call intergalactic war ‘petty’. Still, White has a point.”

At that, Black turns her back to the computer and stares down at Yellow. She cannot perform an exact replica of White’s chilling glare, for Black has too much exuberance in her movements, but the curl of a lip and the locking of eyes is enough to make Yellow a bit surprised. As if a toddler were to recite Shakespeare from memory in front of you.

“Then perhaps it is time we begin to make our soldiers a bit sturdier. Considering we have five... Well, four-and-a-half perfectly viable Diamonds to bathe and wash, it will only take a bit of tweaking to make the quartz chemical composition less volatile. I’m sure the Peridots can manage to figure it out before next month’s mission.”

They are suddenly reminded that it is not Pink that they are dealing with. That Black, as per Blue and Yellow’s decision, is meant to see the cracks in their judgments. It takes Yellow a moment to process the suggestion before she taps away in the computer and selects the most recent colony reports, compiled and assembled by Yellow Pearl just a few hours prior. Black watches her actions with a healthy amount of skepticism, attention flicking to White every now and then, who appears undecided between two very elaborate headpieces, both complementary to her crown.

“While it is true that we currently have an abundance of the core material necessary for gem creation, you forget that all our colonies are already working at full-capacity. Unless you can find new viable resources by the end of the week, Black, we will have to make do with our regular soldiers for a moment longer.”

Checkmate, is what Yellow thinks. She has successfully reestablished her position as the matriarch of the situation, the one who rules with an iron-fist, but such notions only last until Black unexpectedly reaches for the computer, retrieving an archive from her personal files. She puts it in a separate screen and hands it to Yellow, smirk already in place.

“Perfect. Here it is.”

Three very punctuated seconds take place between the moment Yellow takes the screen and that when she speaks again.

“How, in sky’s name, did you come up with this?”

“White’s star-charts”, Black says matter-of-factually. This catches White’s attention, as she sets her mirror on the desk and calmly walks over to them, headpiece shining from the overhead lights. With White looking over her shoulder, Black takes it as her clue to elaborate.

“I cross-compared the old information with what I know – that is, with what we have in our databases. Doing it manually like you were doing before would have been impossible, since there is so much to read between the lines, but using the information written on the charts makes it all clearer. Your Pearls helped with the word processing, actually.”

“Hah! Of course!” White takes the screen from Yellow, pleasantly amused. “It is hilarious that we did not figure this out on our own.”

“You were busy. I was bored. Besides, this is the sort of thing I was designed to excel at.”

Black speaks as if the truth were dull and obvious, though there is a clear smirk drawn on her lips and eyes. White smiles, too, looking as satisfied with her pupil’s actions as a queen who just had the head of her enemy served on a plate. An arrogant, dangerous, and altogether intoxicating smile.

“She has you beat, Yellow. Whatever will you do?”

With a better understanding of the information, Yellow is able to see the triumph she is faced with. It is unlikely that any of the planets will be fertile or large enough to relocate the entirety of Homeworld, but with a few more suppliers at hand, the Authority will have a great portion of freedom to pursue their endeavors. Military, executive, intellectual, or otherwise. 

“I will bow my head in humility.” Yellow winks, handing the screen back to Black with a friendly show of teeth, even if not exactly a smile. “Have this list sent to the kindergarten department so that they can run soil samples. Your plans may well run into fruition.”

“I will. Hopefully my own line of soldiers will be able to carry me in their arms.”

“You don’t need soldiers for that, darling.”

White’s murmur gets lost in the conversation. Since descriptions of alien scouters and military skybreakers are of no interest to her, White throws herself back on the couch, staring at her impressive collection of ornaments with a lovelorn gaze. It’s settled. She will have a new tiara crafted. Black and Yellow manage to go through around three-quarters of the compilation before the door slides open and Yellow Pearl walks in, nose pointed at the ceiling and chest held high.

“My Diamond, your presence is required at one of your colonies.”

“As always… I would like my desk back at some point, White”, says Yellow. She then lets out a long sigh.

“You will have it. Eventually.”

Yellow’s departure is marked by the clacking of her heels, then by the automatic closing of the door. Without much else to do, Black gently picks up one of White’s tiaras from the table. It is made of transparent crystal, heavy and hard, and the cuts on its surface redirect the light in an elegant way. In Black’s hands, however, the interaction of the crystals and the shadows changes the effect.

“That one should fit you. Just be careful with your hair.”

Mirror back in hand, White watches her from over the silver border, attention split between her own reflection and that which Black produces on the polished walls. She looks less detached from the scenery when she is like this, wearing trousers and a blazer, perched over Yellow’s literature or with White’s tiara on her head. Like her existence doesn’t cut too deep a whole in the fabric of reality. Like she is truly there, within arms’ reach.

“Help me adjust it.”

There is little space left on the couch for Black to occupy, but she sits next to White as if pressing her back against White’s ribs is no issue at all. As if the fact that they can feel each other’s breaths is ordinary and fine. As if this is not the closest they have ever been, and as if the both of them are not terribly aware of it. Regardless, they move past it. Black’s hair is short and tamed, brushed to form an elegant loop, and the tiara does a mighty good job of flattening it against her head. Determined to make the adornment work, White has to run her hands through Black’s hair and twirl it around and over the crystal band, conserving the volume from before. Black watches, mystified. Once the style is finished and White lifts herself on her elbows to admire her work, years upon years of adjusting small details on the other Diamonds’ appearances flashing on the back of her mind, Black cheekily loosens a strand of hair and lets it fall over her temple.

“A personal touch, is all”, she clarifies.

“I guessed as much.” White glances at her from side to side, briefly touching Black’s chin to move her head. “The tiara suits you, even if not in the way I expected. It’s intriguing.”

“May I keep it?”

Black asks in earnest, hand reaching for the mirror White has left to her side. She flaunts her figure still, just as she had done a few hours prior, though there is genuine interest that gleams in her silver eyes. Black is, as White comes to realize, quite careful with her touches, hand hovering near her head in fears that the adornment will drop and break.

“I don’t see why not. Have one of the Pebbles give it a polish and you could wear it to the ball.”

A smile of gratitude is quickly displayed, though a downwards curl can be seen on the left corner of Black’s pouty lips.

“A ball... What even is there for someone like us to do at a ball?”

“According to Steven, quite a lot, though I am not entirely sure myself. Dance, I suppose, or bask in the adoration of your subjects. Dress up in gold and glitter, if it suits you.”

If she is not mistaken, White has not officially attended a ball in almost six thousand years, and even though she is one for cordiality and etiquette, the protocol for a real party is blurry in her memories. Homeworld did celebrate, that much was true, but before the little human’s intervention most of it had taken place under the sheets, away from the supervision of the Authority. Sneaking out past your bedtime was not a human invention, after all, and even the Diamonds were said to do it. The evident difference was that, this time, punishable behavior was to be encouraged, and White was expected to publicly partake in it. She would rather not, obviously, and Black is quick to catch onto this fact.

“It seems I don’t need an excuse to wear my best attire. Besides, I am afraid any dancing from our part will result in quite a few casualties, considering most of our gems are the size of my heels...”

There is nonchalance in Black’s voice, of a kind that White is not familiar with.  It isn’t offensive, just odd. White almost gets caught up in it, amusement sweeping into her voice as she leans back down on the couch.

“A celebration is all it is, Black, with no need for further motives.”

“My point is that it seems monotonous. Like memorizing a poem, word for word, only never to recite it. Must I go? Must any of us go, really?”

She does not whine. Her words, in fact, have a calculated balance between true emotion and persuasion. Black’s logic is plain and simple – if a party sounds dull, why even bother going?

“Yes, for it is our duty as Diamonds.”

White, on the other hand, does not mandate. Her words are honey-coated, as always these days, but there is a deeper level of patience in them. To hold onto duty when she herself had avoided leaving her perfectly-crafted fortress, thinking she was too good for it all, sending in her Pearl fill her empty seat, is hypocrisy at best. Aware of this, White can’t help but to indulge Black in her musings.

“Just let the people celebrate by themselves, is what I suggest. They know how to have fun without us.”

Black’s mind goes back to the Bismuth and the Moonstone, pawing at each other ever-so-passionately at the bottom of a staircase, thoughts hot and inundating and addictive. She had not seen them, per se, but the memories had been so freshly-burnt into their heads that is was near impossible not to pay them any mind. Black knows exactly what they were doing. Most cultures have ultimately dedicated themselves to recording the intricacies of it, in bold and great detail. It has caused wars. It has caused death. It is written everywhere, and Black has read it all. However, even if her thoughts delve to such matters, Black shows no indication of it.

“That would be unwise, and you are well aware of it”, says White, almost too knowingly. When Black maintains the silence and simply stares at her, she feels the need to continue. Change her tactics, even if reluctantly. To do so, she holds Black by her cheek, with the same lightness she had applied at the observatory.

“Dear, I understand that co-existing with a crowd can be bothersome to you, and so I will not force you to endure for long. Come, play your part for a bit, and we will do our best to keep you distracted. It will be over before you realize.”

“I hope you’re aware that I will hold you to your promise, _darling._ ”

A direct response to White’s mothering intervention (an attempt to dismantle it, in truth), Black looks up at the ceiling, leaving her neck exposed.

 

* * *

 

“Another intruder?”

Yellow has her nose pinched between her fingers, back pressed against her ship’s loading gate. She is supposed to already be at her colony by this time, overseeing the extractions and terraformation, but Blue’s sudden call has rightfully put her plans on delay. The rest of her crew has already boarded and awaits nervously the end of the conversation. Right in front of her, Blue seems equally distraught.

“It appears to be the case. A cargo ship, military-bound, carrying a shipment of energy cores and a few ammunition cases. One of my Emeralds caught them thanks to a malfunction in the cloaking device, just a star system away from my scheduled inspection.”

Which means, Yellow bitterly ponders, that they are bold enough to make crossing attempts right at the heart of the Empire, and not just through some tucked-away underdeveloped colony.

“Fuck… And so soon after the previous spotting. Did the Agates manage to gather any information from them?”

Not a day before they had laughed at the pathetic intrusion. Seen it as a silly inconvenience. This cargo ship, unlike the puny scouter, carries military equipment suited for a war. That in itself is already a message sent.  

“Hardly. Unfortunately the data banks self-destructed before the squad could get to them. As for the organic crew that was on board, well…”

Blue doesn’t even have to say it.

“Dead. Following their commander’s orders, most likely”, says Yellow with a deep sigh.

“This is a situation where being expendable serves its purpose. All it takes is a pH imbalance for their bodies to shut down. Quick, painless, and effective.”

Their enemies are organic, or at least mostly so, and while that makes them extremely easy to eradicate, it also means that they multiply in crazy numbers in the blink of an eye. Let them run loose and soon you find yourself with an infestation, like a plague that spreads across the land and takes over. Corruption would be a solution if it comes to that, but neither Yellow nor Blue want to consider how that would play out for the bystanders, especially now that Black has added to their power. They can’t give shards a bubble bath.

A moment passes between them, deprived of all the warmth and affection of their previous encounters. Yellow would offer Blue the refuge of her arms, tell her it will all be fine, but her stance and grimace seem to indicate that love is not the priority in her mind. Besides, Yellow can’t make promises she may not be able to keep. Blue is frustrated, while Yellow feels helpless.  

“Meanwhile we remain in the shadows, licking our wounds without a clue of what is going on outside our borders. This can’t go on. I need to step up a new scouting mission, Blue, as soon as possible.”

Blue’s reaction shows every bit of her displeasure. Her lip trembles, if only for a bit, and her brows furrow, leaving thick lines underneath her eyes.

“We cannot spread our forces thin, Yellow. It would be madness for you to leave now, and you know it.”

“What’s the alternative? Sit around in our throne room and wait for their mother-ship to land on our heads? I don’t think so.”

The exasperation in Yellow’s voice is mirrored in Blue’s. They step closer to each other, speaking in hushed tones that crack when emotion gets in the way. A Peridot almost steps outside the ship to ask if her Diamond is ready to leave, but is thankfully stopped by a terrified Jasper, who shakes her head violently and pulls (or rather, lifts) the Peridot back to her seat.

“The alternative is to make sure our Empire is safe. All major repairs were only recently finished, but I am sure that with Steven and Black working in our favor, we would be capable of reinforcing security in our dead-end sectors. We won’t need to stand defensive for long, Yellow, just enough so that our colonies have a chance to deliver their duties.”

Blue’s argumentative powers are strong, and immediately Yellow feels her restlessness mellow out from within. She breathes, using the rise and fall of Blue’s chest as a guide to her own, then consciously relaxes the muscles on her back. Blue goes through a relaxation exercise of her own, though it consists entirely of staring at Yellow while humming a low tune with the back of her throat. It would have worked had a little thought not popped up in her head, but Blue does a fine job of pushing past it when Yellow speaks again.

“About that – Black figured out which planets from the five blocks we conquered last cycle are of any use to us. I could speed up the restoration process by prioritizing the development of those kindergartens, I would just need to coordinate it personally.”

The little thought nags her once more. Blue barely manages to stuff it back.

“Oh! Y-yes, of course. They are not located near the borders, so the danger of a true heist is statically ignorable, and it would set the construction of Black’s guard a few steps forward. It’s just… Yellow…”

“What is it, Blue?”

Yellow’s loyal concern does little to ease the situation. Blue has to remind herself that she is the ruler of a nation under the threat of war, and that even if she did overindulge in her personal emotions quite often, this was not the time to let them get in the way of her duties.

“Nothing. Just don’t mention this to White, not yet”, Blue claims, hands running along a loop of hair. “I will have a portion of my guard assigned to you. Tell me when you are ready to leave.”

In situations like these, she forgets that Yellow is not an easily-deceived gem. Blue also forgets that they have shared a body and a mind in more than one occasion. She does not forget, however, that Yellow loves her.

“What is it, Blue? Tell me.”

It is unavoidable that they end up in each other’s arms. Yellow holds her by her shoulders, ever so careful with her electrically-charged grip, and after a moment of hesitation Blue slips a cold hand underneath the side plate of her golden helmet, cupping an ever-so-slightly dry cheek. Eyes locked almost by instinct.

“We… We haven’t been separated in months. We have been busy, yes, buried in work up to our necks, but you were always a video call and a walk away.”

Ghastly understanding flashes in Yellow’s mind. Blue can almost sense it happening, like missing a step when going down a set of stairs, and shares the feeling of having her stomach drop.

“Not an hours-long trip away from our domains. I understand.”

Sadness fills her words, and suddenly guilt washes over them both. Yellow, for having to leave. Blue, for reminding Yellow that the world they have been living in is fantasy. That their crowns are heavy. That the Empire takes precedence.

“It’s a silly worry, but it does not make it any easier”, whispers Blue. Her thumb raps gently over Yellow’s chin, four or five little motions before she gently nudges her forward and meets her lips. Away from the safety of their chambers or destroyed planets, their kisses are usually doused in caution, as if they were already prepared to break apart at the littlest warning. Every so often, however, in moments charged like these, Blue will dig her fingers into the fabric of Yellow’s suit, unable to ever let go. To demonstrate she corresponds the idea, even when her brain has ceased to function and all she can think of is the aching of Blue’s touch, Yellow will grab a fistful of hair and pull her closer, open-mouthed kisses and flushed skin visible to any gem who would dare pass by. They embrace. Yellow is already behind schedule anyways.

“Blue, you could come with me.”

The words are punctuated by her breath, warm and humid and intoxicating as it brushes past Blue’s face. She has Yellow pressed against the gate, shoulder-blades likely sore from the pressure, and this is the only reason as to why they are still somewhat standing. Even Blue’s position is mildly uncomfortable, but she refuses to move. Instead, she smooths down the fabric of Yellow’s jacket, running her hands up and down her torso in an attempt to alleviate her frustration. Only a minute later she manages to answer Yellow’s request.

“That would be inappropriate and dangerous. Besides, we would barely be able to focus.”

“Come with me, Blue”, Yellow asks again. She says it a little softer, like a pleading, and a lump forms in Blue’s throat.

“Perhaps.”

 

* * *

 

_“And as sleek as a shriek_

_Spinning round and round_

_Always take a big bite_

_It's such a gorgeous sight_

_To see you in the middle of the night”_

 

* * *

 

As the true rulers of Homeworld, the Diamonds are taking a shortcut on tradition by allowing Steven to host the celebrations on his own. They did send their Pearls to help with the organization, of course, but their guidance is no longer a rule book to follow. Suggestions and recommendations are all the Pearls are allowed to offer, and so Steven has the creative freedom to do what he pleases with the party, consequently claiming all of the stress that comes with preparation to his own. He enjoys it, somehow. With the responsibility stripped away from their hands, the Diamonds can only worry so much when, about half an hour after the ballroom has been opened, Black is still nowhere to be seen.

Not in her rooms. Not in the streets. Not anywhere remotely appropriate for a Diamond. The celebrations go on regardless, but the empty throne and the dense atmosphere shared between the empresses dulls the mood a fair amount. Blue and Yellow seem concerned, whispering orders to their servants in-between the songs that are being played. White’s words ring in their minds, no doubt. The last to have seen her, White remains more inquisitive than worried, piecing together fragments of information gathered from their conversations to try and map out Black’s intentions. Contradictory, for one, but also fickle and erratic.

“Maybe she is just shy?”, offers Steven, mopping the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. He had been dancing with his human friend just a moment before, twisting and turning and laughing with the other gems much like he had done in his last visit, though this time he has the mind not to fuse in the middle of the dance floor.

“Not shy. Introspective. And even so, I believe this has nothing to do with her social abilities.”

White does not notice, but her hands have a talon-like grip on the throne’s armrest. Steven watches her for a second, frown disturbing his chubby face, then shrugs.

“Not everybody likes parties. Maybe we should have asked her if this was something she wanted.”

She does not answer. Instead, White makes eye contact with Blue and Yellow, both sat next to her, before slowly rising from her seat and making her way the opposite to the dance floor.

Pink’s palace is composed of towers upon towers, crystallized and polished, made in the color of the roses she so liked, each connected to the main floor where the ballroom is located. There are small artificial gardens scattered around, and a big courtyard that can be accessed from a few strategic entrances. She makes it to one of those, holding her breath until the automatic door opens and she is greeted with fresh air she has little need for. The scenery is pretty, at least, pretty in the way all of Pink’s things tended to be. Kind, gentle, unassuming. A complete contrast to White’s aggressive, all-consuming glamour. The breeze that passes by is cold, humid, and she endures it standing up, hands by her sides, watching how the lights of Homeworld have been dimmed down so that the Authority could shine.

She has built it all from nothing, has she not? She is the founder, the creator. Thousands of years of hard, relentless work, never in the hopes of eventually being able to sit back and watch it all prosper without her. Her crown is eternal, and White would not have it any other way. So she watches Homeworld with the gaze of a painter yet not finished with their masterpiece, critical and calculating, craving the mistakes hidden from the ignorant’s eyes. Mistakes such as a crooked lamppost, or an ill-designed building, or a vulture watching from the rooftop. At that, White halts.

“So that’s where you ran off to.”

The crystal tiara goes extremely well with the fitted lace suit Black has chosen, though that is of little concern compared to how she is perched upon the roof, legs curled under herself, staring at White like a deer caught in headlights. The shock of being discovered gradually bleeds into tenacity, and Black makes damn good use of it.

“What can I say? The construction material helps buff out the noise. Besides, the view is quite impressive.”

Making her best attempt at brushing off her bewilderment at the situation, White comes up with a twisted version of her reprehensible stare, laced with gelid uncertainty and scorching curiosity. It is an obstructive feeling, harder to repress than her usual anxiety, heavier than the ever-changing pace she has been following. Most of all, it is an amalgamation of multiple issues, each and every one of them coming together like a charged thundercloud before a storm.

“You are meant to be attending a formal ball, not loitering around rooftops in full gala attire.”

Black stiffens under the words, even if the aloof smirk she sports and the overlapping of shadows are enough of a disguise to upkeep her unperturbed persona. She knew they would eventually find her – it was inevitable when your empire is your eyes – she had only hoped for a minute longer of seclusion. Change of plans, it seems.

“’Meant to’ is a loosely-fitting term, since writing the rules this empire follows is also within my domain of command. You would like me to attend the ball, and I would like to go for a spin in the prototype of my ship. All in all, I would say this is a nice compromise.”

The indifferent explanation, combined with the emotional weight of the day, makes it hard for White to feel offended without a tinge of enjoyment. Expressing this conflict in words would be useless, so she settles for crossing her arms.

“And what makes you think that I, or any of the other Diamonds for that matter, will let you get away with this?”

Once again, the amusement betrays her tone. Her temper is notoriously frantic, even more so when it comes to those who overlook her suggestions, and yet White has trouble finding herself exasperated past a minor degree.

“Quite a few things, in all honesty”, says Black, swinging her legs over the railing.  She further elaborates:

“For starters, I can see that the three of you have a personal vow to avoid hard punishments when it comes to me, considering how awfully it worked out the last time. Then there is the technicality that I am within the premises of the ball.”

A crease has formed between White’s refined eyebrows, right underneath the bottom tip of her gem, but she continues listening to Black’s dissertation with little more indication of annoyance than her pursed lips. Sizing up the reaction, Black takes a short breath before looking up at the sky, then directly at White.

“Lastly, I don’t need to read your mind to know that there is a part of you, one that you are so masterfully repressing, that wants to climb up here with me.”

It was a bluff, and a very dangerous one at that. Like taking a shot with a gun you have not loaded yourself during a game of Russian roulette. A gamble with high stakes and little chance of succeeding. All Black has to go by are the impressions others have made of White, the traumas and frights imprinted in their memory, a thousand and one instances where White had the upper hand, and just one where she hadn’t. Her only bullet is the faint rouge that spreads down White’s cheeks, underneath her painted eyeliner. Faint, but visible enough to take the risk.

“Don’t worry, I will take the punishment later. Just let me have my fun.”

Rough and quiet, Black’s words carry more honesty than discipline. She is placing herself above duty, going against her own nature in the process, and now she prompts White to do the same. Worst of all, White considers it.

“Only if you tell me what is the reasoning behind this.”

“There isn’t one”, is the blunt response she receives. Black leans over the railing, watching with apprehension as White’s facial expression fluctuates to all colors of the spectrum, the confusion of such a newfound situation meddling with her senses. She could simply drag Black to the party. In fact, she would hardly break a sweat in doing so. The only problem is that, with the little human’s ideology burning at the back of her conscience and a heavy, unknown weight dragging her heart down her guts, White is unable to lift a finger. All she can do is accuse.

“That is impossible. You are a Diamond, for star’s sake, you thrive on principles and reasoning.”

“Precisely. I have so many lines of thought, it would be madness to follow one in its entirety, so I opt not to. Keep the ideas that suit me, throw away the rest. My head is cluttered as it is.”

Black shares her troubles without resentment nor vulnerability. To her, these are just the ways of her reality, some of which she will do her best to dispute, while others she will merely comply with and take it like the empress she is. She lives in a thin balance of dominance and submissiveness, of holding on and letting go, yet somehow managing to keep the reigns tightly wrapped around her hands. They are all control freaks, the Diamonds, only each in their very particular way.

White takes a step forward, then one back. Another forward, another back. It takes a dollop of energy to fight back the hesitance before she acts for sure. Climbing up the polished walls would be inappropriate at best, and something White would never willingly submit herself to, though thankfully her ability to propel her body upwards is enough to have her sitting by Black’s side, not a single strand of hair out of place.

“A riddle is what you are, Black. I don’t understand you” comments White after a long pause, as she picks the corners of her fingernails.  She feels absurd to be sitting on a rooftop, decked from crown to toes in luxury, the overflowing ends of her cape sprawled around her like a halo of glitz. Absurd, out-of-place, incorrect. Bizarre, most of all, like a restless dream pieced together in little conscience. Black seems to be aware of White’s discomfort, though she does not go out of her way to ease it. Her upcoming thoughts just happen to be fitting.

“You do not have to. The only person you are supposed to understand is yourself, White. Everyone else is just a secondary character, a pawn to be moved, or a mouth to be kissed.”

It is not cynicism more than it is self-sufficiency, a product of both innate knowledge and the immortal equivalent of adolescence, singularity at its finest. A direct opposition to White’s destroyed philosophy of ‘I am light, and light is everyone’.

“Your ideology is flawed, dear”, she immediate responds, the rolling of eyes purposefully evident. “If that were true, then it would mean I have been failing every moment of my existence, and we both know that is hardly correct.”

Instead of feeling belittled by White’s biting arrogance (perhaps due to the fact that White is indeed correct) Black lays down on the hard roof, using her fingers to trace out the constellations above them. Homeworld may be known for categorizing elements in rational, objective patterns – cuts, facets, planets, gems – but constellations are named by the Pearls. Just named, not mapped out, yet it does not keep their creativity from shining through. And now Black has a thousand little names floating around her mind, using trial-and-error to find the correct fits. Her fingers eventually find a scale-like shape. The Opal, also referred to as ‘justice-keeper’. A meaning adequate for the line of thought Black currently pursues.

“Failure and success are two sides of the same coin. In order to fail at something, you must also succeed at its opposite. Like you and I, dark and light, bound to perspective.”

Philosophical, life-questioning states are a staple to those very young and to those very old. Even if White has been actively avoiding these sorts of questions for the past few thousand years, and arguably failing at it, the meaning of Black’s words is not lost to her. White understands them so well that she finally finds a motive to justify her upset.

“But dear, we are not the same.”

‘Because I am ancient and a leader, while you are a neonate and careless’ would be a fitting complement to her statement, though it goes unsaid. Nevertheless, there is a fragment of White’s personality that is able to shake off the pride of her position and stand in the same level as Black, the part that craves advice that will not be delivered with judgement.

“You would have to know yourself to be able to confirm that, and the records tell me otherwise.”

Black has her face turned to the side, cheek pressed flat against the tinted crystal. Now, under the dimmed lights, this is the second time White realizes that Black has not the stance of a scholar, like Blue, or of a warrior, like Yellow. She acts not like a charmer, as had Pink done, nor as a queen, like White. Even if she stares at White with half-lidded eyes, she does not act like a whore. She milks out the truth from them, but she is no judge. She may even be pieces of all these things, the good and the bad, but she is none of them entirely. Black is like smoke, escaping from her grasp, burning in her lungs, sweeping into the cracks of her facade.

“I will take your words to heart, my dear, once you stop invading other gems’ minds without permission. Until then, show some respect to your Empire and please, come down to the ball.”

If getting caught up in the fog is much like crashing into a cloud, sudden and uplifting, coming back to reality hurts worse than falling from the heavens. It hurts, because the harsh reality that had been blurred over for a few peaceful, addictive seconds is much too clear for those of sensitive souls, as is the case with White. Because the pretense of confronting Black for her misbehavior is just an alibi for White to excuse herself from the panic-inducing celebration. The unavoidable pressure of sitting between Yellow and Blue, when both of them are already tense from holding back their affections in the public eye, and the nagging feeling they blame her for it. The rebel gems, running around with no sense of decorum. Her subjects joining in, glad that the rules she so carefully crafted are no longer in effect. Worst of all, the little human smiling up at her, a painful reminder that being ‘bad’ or ‘good’ goes beyond the achievements of the Empire. And now, with the way she looks at her, the awareness that Black has become another problem for her to lash her anxieties out on, and how Black is almost flattered by it.

“No can do. That is... No amount of training will ever shut the voices down, and I have made a commitment to ditching that party for no reason. A rebel without a cause, I suppose.”

White recalls finding Black slumped against a wall a couple of days after her emergence, tears coming out as steam from her eyes, hands clutched firmly over her ears. The painful encounter had confirmed her suspicions, and from that point onward White had been rigorously locking down her mind. Not an act of compassion by any means, even if she had dried the tears from Black’s eyes, but rather one of self-defense.

“This empire has seen enough rebellion for its history”, concludes White, before coming to a sickening notion that she has left herself become too vulnerable, for Black has reacted before the words left her mouth. They stare at each other, wide-eyed, for the split-second it takes for White to harshly pull her defenses back up and run down to the courtyard. Black does not follow her, not right away, giving White a quarter of an hour to sulk in silence and rewind all her previous mistakes (as she routinely does, despite what others may think). In the meantime, Black instead slides down the roof and into the artificial garden, plucking out chemically-generated flowers from their stems and setting them aflame on her palm, then letting the ashes be carried away by the wind. It leaves a sweet, asphyxiating scent behind, along with bushes of just leaves and thorns. Once White no longer seems at the brink of slapping her, Black marches up to her side. Dead silence.  

“You’re far away. Where are you?”

The question is posed as a whisper, seen as White appears partial to whispers. From their proximity, their forearms press on one another. Silence remains, though not so dead. Muffled music, up-beat and vibrant, can now be heard from the ballroom, a human polka reviewed by the gem orchestra performing that night.

“In a world that has disappeared, I am afraid.”

They stare ahead.

“That may be true. Could I offer you a place in my world, if that would be enough?”

“It won’t be.”

Black has the immediate feeling she overstepped. The world shifts an odd degree, almost as if the planet had changed its axle of gravity in a sudden decision, and just like that Black loses the line of thought she had been faithfully grasping. Unsure of what to do or what to say, she resorts to mirroring White’s intense observation of the horizon.

“It won’t be”, White repeats, hand reaching to adjust Black’s tiara. She then slides her hand down her temple and around her cheek, holding it there for a moment, long nails dangerously close to Black’s left eye, before slowly sliding it to the nape of her neck. White mindlessly toys with the tiny hairs that escaped the elaborate up-do, unreadable. Looking her in the eye makes her vision sore, more so when they are so close, but Black finds herself staring, mind gone completely blank. She imagines this is what being at the receiving end of Yellow’s electric blast feels like. She knows this is what Blue can make others feel. But they are by themselves, as they often end up being, solitary is the fate of their kind. White is waiting, half-expecting her to flinch away. Her lips are pursed.

A thought comes up in Black’s mind. An effervescent, bewitching, lovely thought.

“Then I do hope you will forgive me.”

She kisses White.

 

* * *

 

_“You can never get enough_

_Enough of this stuff_

_It's Friday_

_I'm in love”_

_-“Friday I’m in love” by The Cure._


	4. The Eve of The War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can resist anything except temptation" - Oscar Wilde  
> Homeworld's first actual party is supposed to bend the rules of proper gem society. It is a shame that the Diamonds have more pressing concerns than waltzing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for this chapter comes from the overture song written by Jeff Wayne for the musical version of The War of the Worlds. Considering we are delving into the realm of science fiction and space operas here, I thought it would be fitting. 
> 
> If you have made it until this point, thank you for your patience. Enjoy!

_“Listen, do you hear them drawing near_

_In their search for the sinners?_

_Feeding on the power of our fear_

_And the evil within us?”_

_“The Spirit of Man” – The War of the Worlds by Jeff Wayne_

 

* * *

 

White is many things. She is powerful. She is supreme. She is anxious, dazed, and lonely. She could have been perfection given form. White is many things, but being forgiving is not one of them. Latching onto every lie, every misstep, every deception, White has gone through an eternal lifetime without ever letting go of her crafted impressions. For someone with a fragile sense of self, her judgments of those who surround her are her closest link to her own identity, and so looking past a wrongdoing feels awfully close to erasing a piece of her own story. There have been cases where White purposefully neglected to take action, cases where she chose to turn a blind-eye, but a lack of punishment does not equate forgiveness. White absolves no one, not even herself. As such, Black should know better than to ask for her pardon, because nothing Black can do will warrant it.

The kiss is brief. It hurts, almost, because Black’s gentle handling of ornaments does not translate to her conduct with gems. Her hold is aggressive and awkward, fueled by a newfound desperation White doesn’t even bother rationalizing, the destruction of her emergence printed upon every inch of Black’s skin. They are made of light, and even so everything suddenly feels too cold. Like being pulled into a never-ending abyss. Negative space. Total darkness. White breaks apart before another treacherous thought has the opportunity to form in her mind. She then goes on to feel a myriad of emotions. Shame, for one, shame for doing exactly what she has been reprimanding since the dawn of gemkind. Horror for exposing herself in such a low manner. And to a practical stranger, no less. Lastly, lust. Of the sort that washes over your body like a long puff of rich perfume, like satin sheets and velvet duvets, like the warmth of a fireplace after a biting night. White is well-acquainted with all of these feelings, as bothersome as they may be, and has methodically prepared herself to be able to shut them out at will. All she needs to do is to calm down, keep her from getting close once again, a fact she only remembers by the time their fourth kiss bleeds into a fifth. Time comes to halt, and all she can feel is the softness of Black’s skin pressed up against her, hands locked around her back, breath heavy and slick on White’s lips.

No.

_No._

_Shit._

 “… Stop. Let go, right now”, White manages to croak out, hands grasping Black by her shoulders and pushing her away.

She miserably realizes that this single event encompasses one of the greatest mistakes of her existence. An unhealthy mechanism soon turned to an addiction. A compulsion. An obsession. Since her emergence, White has kept her distance from most affections, with the rare exceptions she has allowed causing more damage than good. Being alone was just another price to pay for her crown, and a justified one at that. She is deprived of touch. Of love, like a hunger buried deep within her gemstone. White was fine with it, at least until this very moment. And now, with the taste of fire still burning in her tongue, she finally knows just how much she has been starving.

Despite the dim lighting, she can see the lipstick smudge trailing down from the corner of Black’s lip, reaching the sweet spot on the side of her neck that White almost had the audacity to touch. The silver in her eyes is glassy, still stuck in their moment of passion, and it takes a lengthy second for a reaction to take place, for Black to blink a few too many times.

“Oh. Alright?”

Her voice is raspy and sweet, even if it is tinged with apprehension. White’s heart aches. Not of grief, not of anger, not of anything she can classify. She takes a shaky step backwards, leaning back on her heels so that she can at least get some space between them, because somehow Black remains pressed up to her. Irresistible, much like a forbidden fruit.

“What do you honestly think you are doing?”

White has to force the words out of her mouth, wrapping herself in her own arms to combat the sudden chill that wisps around her, nails digging marks down on silky marble skin. A little orchestra of curses plays on the back of her mind, fueling up her anxiety until her palms are sweaty and her fingertips, cold. Black seems in a similar state of disarray, pulse ringing in her ears, soul grasping desperately for the attention it barely had a chance to taste.

“Distracting myself. Like you promised.”

It is the truth, at least in part. Black will not admit she had wanted to guarantee her protection once news of her unauthorized operation reaches the rest of the Authority, as much as her chances of success were too great not to take the risk. But she also does want White. Wants her now, and Black is not of the sort to let a little complication such as morality to get in the way of her plans. White, on the other hand, is not about to let her emotions interfere with her sense of right and wrong. She tries to clean her throat, then breathes. Hard.

“No, dear. This is not a distraction. It is an infringement on our purpose and on our position. Lesser gems may succumb to temptations like these, clinging to each other in order to stand on their feet, but your cut is much too fine for that. I will not tolerate this.”

The situation is charged and atypical as it is, but White manages to pull off her speech with flawless elegance, confidence dripping down her every syllable. Anger is kinder than heartbreak, so she welcomes it with caution. She can be harsh without falling victim to guilt. She trusts so. Nevertheless, the pain that flashes across Black’s face with every piece of rejection ricochets in part to White’s chest. She delivers every word whilst wishing she could stop, and the few moments before Black responds drag themselves along without mercy. Soon after, awaiting a demonstration of repulsion, White is baffled by her ferocious smile.

“Yes, the same way you do not tolerate Blue and Yellow’s relationship?”

Of course. Out of all possible directions their conversation could have headed, Black has chosen the worst alternative. She could have simply taken the loss, or tried diffusing the tension with an off-hand comment, or even gone as far as forcing another kiss on White’s lips to keep the conversation from happening at all. But no, Black has to challenge. Black has to prod. She has to prove her place and, in her head, winning against White is the shortest way to that. Pushing past all the other feelings that currently bother her, White decides to thrive on her anger, sharpening her gaze to a narrow blade. She is an empress, _the empress_ , and it seems like her title has been overlooked as of late.

“Do not speak of things beyond your knowing. Reading off an encyclopedia does not give you thousands of years of service to this Empire. Yellow and Blue are flawed, but they have proven their value to me. Surely you would like to do the same?”

Sugar and poison. Six of one, half a dozen of the other. Her smile is what seals the tone, welcoming and comforting even when her words are everything but. They remain touching, somehow, the small distance White has established between them quickly becoming devoid of any meaning.

“Have I not done so already?”, questions Black, not as hurt as the delightful crack in her voice may indicate. Her face has dulled to a neutral expression, desirous. White swallows thickly.

_Unbelievable._

She realizes at that point that her new protege must be delirious, to already have attributed such high importance to herself without doing as much as lifting her finger. She has not conquered planets. She has not guided her people. She is yet to know the glory of victory. Arrogance is in their nature, indeed, but even that has its limits.

“Oh, how mistaken you are, my dear”, White coos, dragging the tip of a nail along the side of Black’s angled jaw. It leaves a mark, angry crimson contrasting with the shadows of her skin.

“Every gem is of value to the Empire, yes, but that is quite different from being important to me. I don’t need you.”

Poison, sugar. Black seems receptive to all of it, and it makes the conversation so more infuriating.

“You are not even part of me.”

The words make their way out before she has an opportunity to pick them apart, to mature them in her mind. When she figures it out, it is already too late. Only when she enunciates her thoughts is that White notices that her logic is a double-edged blade. Both an aggression and a source of relief. After all, White had no part in creating Black, thus ridding her of all responsibility towards her well-being. She can do whatever she pleases.

Good, bad, or ugly.

And, in return, so can Black.

“Then I shall make myself an absolute necessity”, Black whispers, grasping the hand that hovers over her cheek.

Panic fills White’s heart, competing for space with the growing cluster of _something_ that has lodged itself there. She smothers it with her nature-granted power, pushing her way past these idiotic feelings like she has done a million times before, but a newfound fear chases her to the depths of damnation. She barely notices she has raised her voice, exchanging poison for obliteration.

“Stars! You are adorable, really. But it is a shame… The fact that I have found myself tied to another gem who brings out the worst in me.”

She is meant to be perfect. Light in its purest form. Sacrosanct. Revered. All-knowing. If Black has the nerve to slither into the cracks in her defenses, White has all the reason to kick her out. To take over control and force Black to sit in her throne, polite and pleasant. Or perhaps confine her to a transparent bubble until she learns to mind her manners. Removing her gemstone from her physical body would be easier than snapping her fingers. Or perhaps she could pierce an elegant hand through her chest, keeping it there until the damage is too great and the projection gives in. She should do it, and with a smile.

It becomes harder to follow her own advice when Black’s fingertips crawl their way past her hand, down her arm, then up towards her sternum. She presses her palm against fake bone.

“While you bring out my best, it seems. Very ironic.”

Don’t be mistaken: Black is terrified. Every second since her emergence has been a wild mixture of both terror and bliss, often in unequal and ever-changing parts. The world and the people that surround her are foreign like a dream from a night ago, dulled out at the edges, and her gut tells her that the way to survival is by thriving on fear. Make it a source of confidence. Avoid feeling bothered. So yes, Black is terrified out of her mind. She just needs to believe that any punishment she may get for being a brat will be worth the prize.

“If this is your best, my dear, then it would appear that you are a horrible person. Is that what you are? A horrible person?”

_‘Because I am. Horrible. Cruel. Deadly. I am danger decked in heels, and you just threw yourself into my arms as if getting hurt were just another pastime to you. You don’t know me. You don’t know how easily I could destroy you.’_

White’s internal monologue plays itself like a mantra, mingling with her musings on perfection with such ardor that her vision fogs over, clearing up only when Black dares to speak again.

“We are rulers, White. We are corrupt by nature.”

She is honest this time around, because it is simply another fact of life she will not waste her time attempting to overcome. Why ever would she? It suits her. Her position, if she plays her cards with care, will grant her freedom, and deep-down that is all Black could ever want. She looks up at White once again. The pain this time around is a little more bearable. She sees light in them, dominating and so sure, but also silence, of the kind every fiber of Black’s soul wishes to tear apart. Their gazes cross, and something hits White, like a comet striking its way down her spine, icy and burning at the same time. Her thoughts soften, if only a little.

“Perhaps you are right. I myself have been a villain for thousands of years. But you have existed for less than a month, my sweet. Whatever corrupt thing could you have possibly done in such short time?”

“This, it would seem.”

A beat is all it takes for White to feel the hand, once pressed against her chest, reaching for the back of her neck and inching her forward. They don’t kiss, not yet. She can feel Black’s cheek resting on hers, her uneven breaths blowing past a stray piece of hair, back and forth. Hunched like this, they are almost of the same height, and it only takes a subtle move from White’s part for their gemstones to click together, foreheads touching. They both flinch, a stinging sensation crawling over her form, but White does not find the feeling particularly bad. In that moment, she concludes her monologue.

‘ _Stars, how wonderful’,_ sarcastically thinks a part of her that still has some sanity left. It is the same part that is capable of carrying an entire empire on her shoulders without complaint, the part that holds her tears and keeps her voice even, the one that meticulously crafted the rules the Authority stands upon. Draped across a stone bench, a bouquet of artificial flowers collected upon her lap, it watches as White steps with an elegant heel on the bulk of her restraints.

_‘And for what? A quick fuck outside a pathetic ball you couldn’t even manage to attend? You are better than this, darling’_

Despite the hostile commentary, the sane side of her does not bother intervening. After all, it has always been a lost cause. The moment Black broke through stone with her fists, raw destruction given form, and looked up at her with silver, trusting, adoring eyes, she was doomed. And when soon after she stretched out her hand and called Black beautiful, White doomed her as well. So she goes in for the kiss, graceful and harsh. Given the circumstances, she can’t be blamed. Not at all.

“This is madness”, White chokes out, skin burning, knee pressed between Black’s legs. She has tried to form that simple sentence about four times by now, and the ragged, panting delivery is still the best she has to offer. Black looks up in the interval before she shoves her silky tongue down White’s throat once more.

“And?”

Black’s hands have found their way underneath the fabric of her skirts, tracing loops on the exposed skin of her thighs. It takes White all of her willpower not to be distracted by that.

“And you barely know me.”

She leaves a maroon mark a little ways bellow Black’s collarbone.

“I don’t have to. What else?”

As White pulls away, their lips part with a pop.

“And… And I’m out of excuses.”

“Good”

Black is not a good kisser. Neither of them are, in all honesty, mostly from a lack of practice, though White’s intrinsic refinement makes her affections a tad more gentle. As such, the peck White receives before Black can continue has an edge, a sting, but the soft whisper against the crook of her neck is enough to balance it out.

“I fucking hate excuses.”

Did White just crave a warm embrace? Perhaps. Then again, so did Black.

 

* * *

 

_“There must be something worth living for_

_There must be something worth trying for_

_Even some things worth dying for!”_

 

* * *

 

The music is soft, slowed out. A bit of a waltz mixed with a bit of electronica. The empty throne between Yellow and Blue is nothing but a weight, a ticking bomb, and the two Diamonds take turns in counting the seconds and staring at the unoccupied seats, eyes darting around the ballroom anxiously. In the rare moments when worry escapes their mind, they are allowed to look at each other, and then all they can think about are wishes. They wish that they could hold each other’s hands as the party plays out before them, that they could at least have comfort. They wish they could join in the dance-floor. They wish all eyes of Homeworld were not on them, every second of their lives. They wish. This choreography of pity plays out a few times before Yellow breaks the silence, addressing Blue directly.

“How many times do you think that Peridot has stepped on that Lapis Lazuli’s feet?”

Blue, lost in her own little world, is surprised with the sudden comment, but snickers after a thoughtful moment.

“Six or seven for each foot, I would say. And the Lapis is wearing sandals, the poor dear!”

Spinning around in rhythmic patterns, gems of all shapes and sizes have paired up and flooded the dance-floor. Some have an easier time in following the melody, while others are hardly concerned with performing the dance correctly and instead prefer to focus on the socialization, but the overall tone seems to be one of festivity. Blue and Yellow must admit the party was not nearly as scandalous as they feared, and are now burdened with the task of containing their own desire to join in. One of Steven’s human friends – his name is either Dad or Greg, they suppose – has brought a peculiar instrument with him, oddly-shaped and full of strings, and has been accompanying the gem orchestra for more than an hour. A live performance, after all, was promised. The melody he plays is unlike anything the Diamonds have ever heard before, but Yellow cannot keep herself from tapping her heel to the beat. Blue hums along sometimes, watching Yellow’s movements and finding that her gemstone heats up at how adorable Yellow looks when distracted.

“Good thing that Peridot is from Era Two. Had she been a bit bigger, she would be taking her dance partner home in a bubble by the end of the night, I am sure”, mentions Yellow in a hushed tone, leaning over White’s empty seat as if about to share a secret with Blue. If she were a little bit braver, she would have skipped a seat and sat right next to Blue to begin with, though the fear of White returning at any moment keeps her from doing so in the first place. But this is fine. They are together, and that is already a start.  

“Quite the opposite scene from the Pearl and the Jasper to our right, don’t you think so? The Earth one, with the horns…”

Blue’s whisper is faint in volume and loud in humor. Just as she mentioned, the Renegade can be seen twirling with grace in the Quartz-that-could’s arms, the lines between the ballerina and the soldier completely blurred over. They watch the two rebels until the end of the song, the lack of conversation indicating the internal fight that currently takes place within each of their minds.

“Ah, yes. She was Pink’s, then mine… Now she is free, I suppose, just like Pink’s Pearl”, speaks up Yellow after a moment of pondering. Her eyes follow the two figures around, half-tactical, half-jealous. Blue lightly nods in agreement, gentle fingers toying with the ends of her extravagant sleeves. Her long, dark navy robes spill from her seat and onto the floor, creating a semi-circle of rich fabric that hides her feet and legs.

“Maybe that is why they dance so well. They have freedom in common.”

“Freedom. What a foreign word.”

That prompts them to look at each other, in the so very honest way that is usually reserved for their private encounters, and it makes it clear that beneath the silly entertainment there is a longing tearing at their hearts, vicious and impatient.

“We got rid of our shackles, Blue, but we remain in exactly the same position. Separated.”

Yellow’s voice shakes as she talks, and the puffs of air that mark her words can be felt by Blue, with how closely they are by stretching from their seats.

“… Sometimes, Yellow. Thank the stars it is only sometimes”, settles Blue warningly, glossy eyes betraying her stiff posture.

She ignores a thousand worries to find relief in that fact. Because her and Yellow must only truly be separated sometimes, when their responsibilities tear them apart, forcefully, sending them to missions at the worst of times. Placing an entire universe between them, and not only an empty throne. Blue knows they will manage, as they always have, but something has stirred within Yellow. For once, she will not survive on the scraps of affection they are able to sneak past Homeworld’s ideals. They are rulers, for cosmos’ sake. They are the ones in control.

“Do you think they would notice if we left?”

Devious is the best term to define Yellow’s tone. She squints, gaze sharpened, and Blue can almost see the gears cranking and turning within her mind. Blue smiles, absolutely wicked.

“Perhaps. No one would dare comment on it, though. White has been gone for nearly an hour and we are the only ones tearing our hair out… Why do you ask?”

“Come with me, Blue.”

Yellow offers a gloved hand, and Blue takes less than a quarter of a second to grasp it with a firm hold, bringing it close to her gemstone. Once they have made sure that there are no witnesses, stealing away to a nearby room is easier than expected. Adrenaline rushes through their physical projections, scorching and enabling, and a youthful glee settles in their spirits. They have ran away from neglected obligations uncountable times, avoided White’s judgement in the process, but never in such an obvious and grand scale. Never in front of a crowd of subjects. It is both exciting and daunting, like jumping off a wheat-covered cliff to dive into the bluest ocean.

They make their way through unused corridors with their breaths held tight. After a few left turns and a couple of doors, a smaller ballroom stretches ahead of them, decorated with vines and flowers Pink managed to make immortal, collecting them in her visits to the other Diamonds’ colonies and conserving them with her powers. The organics are static, frozen in time, but their pollen remains scattered in the air, giving the room a candied scent. It is isolated enough that is it unlikely somebody will accidentally run into them, but the music being played at the ball can still echo off the walls. A perfect spot, really.

“So… I don’t think you brought me here to talk, did you?”, coyly questions Blue, already pressed up against Yellow. In the dimmed lights, their gemstones have a faint glow, the two separate colors blending into green. The pull is there. It always is.

“No, I didn’t.”

Yellow reaches behind her, gently placing her hands on the small of Blue’s back, right where the silver tips of her hair lay perfectly brushed, soft and ticklish if not for the leather gloves. She takes a deep breath, and the scent of rain that clings to Blue is enough to take off years of suffering from her shoulders.

“In that case… Dance with me, Yellow?”

“Do you even need to ask?”

She asks with fake bewilderment, pressing a shy kiss to Blue’s left cheek. They begin to gently sway, stepping from side to side without really following the music that is being played outside, finding melody to call their own. Blue holds her by the chin, thumb tracing Yellow’s bottom lip as she locks their gazes.

“Of course. I would not expect you to drop everything just because I want you to. You already stood up to White with me, once, and that was already too much to ask for”, explains Blue. They spin, and her long skirts flair out around them.

“I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

Risk being bubbled. Risk being shattered. Risk jeopardizing everything she has ever worked towards only to see them happy again. They couldn’t have known White was not the villain they have made of her. They couldn’t have known she was miserable, maybe even more than they had been. They can’t know that she still is.

“The thought itself is a little terrifying.” Blue catches her lips with an open-mouthed kiss, then the side of her neck. Her teeth lightly trace the love bite she left the day before. “So would I, though.”

They are too caught up in their own little world to notice the music changing. Electronic beats giving way to the earthen, melodic tune of strings, a scale or two above the notes produced by Greg’s guitar, still being played in the ballroom. The music is closer, too, as if it were coming from just outside the door, or perhaps from around a corner. Their eyes meeting and their entwined fingers accompany the song better than any words could. Even in a shared embrace, less than a centimeter apart, they still search for one another. And they forever will, no matter the kind of eternity that comes. Call it fate.

Yellow is due to leave for her priority mission in less than forty-eight hours, but they refuse to address the topic of her departure. In the end, it is just another elephant in a castle full of dinosaurs. Another trouble to unhealthily compensate for. There is little use in bringing it up, for the energy that powers the festivities is obvious enough. Soldiers restless at the dawn of combat, engineers and technicians running over preparations in-between dances, artists refueling their inspirations in order to distract the masses once the time comes. And the Diamonds, rulers of it all, savoring the dying peace that befell their empire. However, for tonight, Homeworld simply dances, whatever the dance may be.

The moment comes when the pull is too strong. When the melody and the rhythm and their gemstones perfectly synchronize, as if they were one and the same, and suddenly it is too late. Suddenly Blue and Yellow are no longer waltzing around an empty room, and in their place stands Green Diamond, serene and glorious.

“A giant woman!”, comes a muffled scream from the corner. Jovial, sweet, and very human of a scream. Green remains complete, not disturbed by the intrusion, and very silently moves back towards the entrance. Her two pairs of eyes watch with curiosity as a small figure sheepishly walks up from the shadows, a faint pink blush spread on his chubby cheeks and a well-loved ukulele on his hands.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I saw that Blue and Yellow went missing and I thought they maybe went looking for Black, so I wanted to help. Then I walked in here and they were dancing and, well…”

Steven motions to his instrument, seeming very excited about his new acquaintance. Green can see the little starts glimmering in his eyes. The resemblance with Pink makes her heart warm up.

“Thank you, Steven. It was a lovely song.”

Her voice is cleanly-cut and well-enunciated. She speaks in an accent that is neither Yellow’s nor Blue’s, yet that also is not incredibly different from a mixture of both. Taller than White, she has to kneel on the ground to be able to speak to the little half-human.  

“I’m happy that you liked it! Dad helped me write it, a couple of years ago, actually… Oh, wait! I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Green Diamond. You may call me Green, of course.”

Steven’s face lights up with the tranquil pace of her words. A smile, albeit a small one, graces her lips.

“Got it. Well Green, since we are already talking, maybe you could help me figure some stuff out?”, proposes Steven, the blush and glee giving way to a more serious expression. Had she known him since he was a child, a brave little boy, Green Diamond would have been able to tell how much he has grown as a person. As her own knowledge stems from that of her components, the perception does not cross her mind.

“You may proceed.”

With the affirmation, Steven lowers his instrument and looks up at her, grasping with ease the two sets of emotions that can be seen in her gaze.

“Back when I was in mom’s tower, Blue told me she could not imagine how fusing could be a fun thing to do. Are you… Unhappy to be you?”

The question hurts her, mainly because Yellow had not known Blue said such a thing. After a moment of processing, however, she returns to her calm smile, nodding to herself just as if she had solved a puzzle.

“Quite the opposite, child. I am entirely delighted to be myself. I do believe what Blue meant to say was that the situations that invoke my presence are rarely pleasant ones. War, destruction, grief… These are all things that set our souls astray, but that require a centered heart in order to be dealt with. That is what I am – their center.”

Her hair is shiny and straight, reaching down to her shoulders, and it moves freely whenever she gesticulates with her head. Steven sports a frown, going over what he knows of the Authority before speaking once again.

“Then, if you are here, that would mean things are out of balance, is that not it?”

Full of questions he was, and this was the perfect opportunity to rid himself of them.

“Balance is not static, child, but you are right. Sometimes I wonder if my permanent presence would not be beneficial to the Authority, but then I remember… That in itself would bring our world out of equilibrium. I am unlike the fusions you call friends.”

“They are my friends, Green. I like them” defensively states Steven, nose scrunched up. Green catches the reaction, and her demeanor softens up.

“Oh, no. No, I do not mean it in a prejudiced manner, as Yellow or Blue may be inclined to do. I am simply different. In purpose and nature alike.”

Her hands are neatly folded in her lap. Steven watches her speak, trying to get a better understanding of the fusion before him with just her gestures, but ultimately comes up short of a decent explanation. It bothers him a little, but he easily moves past it. This was a party, after all, not an interrogation session.

“Maybe I don’t understand you yet, Green, but I am glad you could come. I was worried they wouldn’t like the party, so it is nice to see that they got to enjoy themselves, even if it was not out there in the crowd.”

He beams at her, dimples appearing on the side of his chin, and Green nods her head in calm agreement. She does not mind not mingling with the other guests, for she is more than capable of enjoying the music from out here. The melody soothes her, like a lullaby she never heard, making everything clearer.

“Speaking of enjoying the party… Perhaps it is time I – no, they go looking for Black and White”, Green speaks up, long hands motioning to the direction of the ballroom.

“You sure you want to leave so soon?”

“I am.”

Her gentle smile is enough to dismiss Steven’s doubts, even if he remains stunned by her presence. She stands, careful with the impact her movements have on the floor, then casually returns to the center of the room. For a second she simply stands, but then turns back to him, face solemn.

“Please don’t make mention of this encounter to your friends. And, Steven?”

“Yeah?”, asks Steven, small hands grasping his ukulele handle in childish expectation.

“Thank you for the music.”

A flash of green light is split into yellow and blue.

_‘Man, I knew I was right! Amethyst now owes me twenty bucks. Wait... I promised I wouldn't tell anyone...'_

 

* * *

_“And if one man can stand tall_

_There must be hope for us all_

_Somewhere, somewhere in the spirit of man”_

 

* * *

 

When White does return to the ballroom, Black not more than a foot behind her, she looks like she just saw a ghost. Beneath all the makeup and glitter there is a tense expression, leaving thin marks all around her eyes and between her eyebrows. Her signature smile remains, pristine and pleasant, though the corners of her lips seem to twitch downwards from time to time. The lipstick she hastily reapplied feathers out against the blank of her skin. Black, on the other hand, has never looked more satisfied, even if her appearance is in a similar state of prim disarray. They split up at the entrance to the room - Black going on to greet the other guests, White making a beeline back to her throne. Strolling around the dancing crowd, Black comes across Blue, who looks up at her with a surprised-yet-knowing face.

“Fashionably late, are you not?”, questions Blue, droopy eyes sizing her up immediately. She does not seem entirely satisfied with neither Black’s presence nor her presentation, so Black does her best to divert her attention by being overly lovable. Angelic. Non-threatening.  

“Hello, Blue. I am _so sorry_ for not showing up. I guess I felt… pressured to perform tonight. A case of stage fright, that’s all.”

She hopes her jacket covers the already-forming bruises. She sure can feel them.

“Do not stress yourself about it. Things around here have been moving faster than normal, so it is only expected that you will need some time to get used to the attention. Just – Just remember that while Yellow and I will not hold it against you, White might.”

Black finds it funny for Blue to offer her protection, and Yellow’s along with hers, when she is just as likely to snap at a deviation of morality as White may be. The only difference is that she would cry along in the end. Brutality wrapped in affection.

“Oh, yes. She already spoke with me.”

“She did?”

The suspicion in Blue’s voice grows thicker, pilling up as if Black had been an atrocious, compulsive liar ever since she spoke her first words, which was not the case as far as she was concerned. Hiding her reaction, Black reaches out to her, feels the fabric of Blue’s robe between a thumb and an index, listening to the crackle of cloth against cloth before she can answer. From the looks of it, the pause drives Blue mad, her thoughts becoming more erratic by the second.

“We had a bit of an argument, if that is what you are wondering, but no harm done”, whispers Black, voice barely audible with the background noises of the party. Blue worries her lip with her teeth, a shudder passing through her form. Memories of her own private talks with White flash behind her cyan eyes, of the numbing sensation that is losing control of your own body, of the heartbroken look in Yellow’s eyes as she reformed.

“Considering you are not in a bubble, I suppose you are right.”

Her posture hardens, and she locks her steel gaze to Black’s languid one. As she does so, the duality of Blue’s nature lays bare to perception – a loving guardian, a vindictive queen. She continues, energy low.

“Tell me if you need anything, Black. I mean it.”

“Of course”, she promises, very offhandedly.

Black looks across the room, to where White has all but buried herself into her throne. Their eyes meet, and Black winks.

“White?”

Yellow’s voice does not startle her. She is merely restless from the long night.

“What is it, dear?”

Aware that White’s smile can be very misleading, Yellow cautiously measures her words before continuing, hands grasped behind her back.

“Are you sure you want to do the speech? I could do it in your place, if you would prefer.”

“Yellow, don’t be silly. I am fine, _perfectly so_.”

The shift in temperament is terrifying, and Yellow can’t let her reaction show beyond how she thickly swallows. A bit reluctantly, she nods to her Pearl, who whispers to her companions. Like little birds, chirping gladly to one another, they request in unison the room to be silent. Unconsciously, White smooths down the fabric of her dress, trying to rid herself of imaginary wrinkles.  

She is light. She is immutable. She is perfect.

White needs a second to collect her thoughts before she stands, addressing the crowd with the elegance of a god. That is, after all, the closest definition to what she is.

“To those in attendance of this debutante ball – thank you for your presence.”

A thousand pairs of eyes are focused on her, solely on her, and in that moment White is reminded of the barest components of her existence – the need for attention, expressed in how her impression of self-worth nearly doubles when watching the amazement her subjects display, and the ability to adulate others for her own benefit. She looks pretty as a postcard, too. Her dress, covered in powdered crystals, refracts her natural light in the most dazzling of fashions, almost blinding, and beneath the heavy eyeliner lays the gaze of a hunter, stalking the grounds for her prey with an alluring smile. Like it or not, appearance is a crucial aspect of being a remarkable leader. And White is over and above remarkable. She is ethereal.

“The time has come for us to welcome a new era of prosperity to gemkind. Our empire has progressed so much in such a small interval of time, and continues to move forward at an exponential rate thanks to our collective dedication. My subjects, I commend you for your trust and loyalty to the Authority. Your efforts are the backbone our society stands upon. Taking into consideration recent events, I must also show courtesy to our guests of honor, the delegation of Earth, who were kind enough to give the Authority a second chance. It is because of them that we may reacquaint ourselves with peace.”

It is easy to get lost in the moment. Blind with adoration, every phrase White speaks out is met with cheering and clapping from her subjects, energetic and militant, but it is evident that their reactions are too quick to be thought-over. Fanatics, is what they are. She could be preaching about the annihilation of gemkind and they would still raise their hands in deluded agreement. Good thing White does not particularly care, too caught up in her spectacle to watch beyond the looking-glass that is her audience. This is her purpose – to be adored, pure and simple.

“As our Empire marches into a new era, it is only adequate that a new guardian be appointed. A being equipped with the tools to guide gemkind further into the path of glory. A paragon of greatness.  A queen. I now ask you to join me as I officially welcome the new pillar of the great Diamond Authority – the captivating Black Diamond!”

Immediately after, the ballroom turns to Black, robotically-crafted salutes proudly displayed in front of their chests. Black is in pain, unimaginably so. Every scream of adoration, every cheer, every clap rings off in her ears and forces its way into her head, throwing to the flames the small amount of mental organization she had regained in the few hours of silence. Memory slots can only carry so much information, and she already functions at overload capacity. Her head pounds to the point she can barely recall her own name and her vision doubles over, flecks of light dancing right in front of her without ever taking a shape. Her mouth feels acrid. It is hell, to put it mildly.

“May your reign be eternally immaculate.”

If Black is incapable of reading White’s mind, then she can surely decipher her smiles. Some are merely for decoration, meticulously placed as decoy or to throw you off your guard. Others are a defense mechanism, used to distract or to change the focus of a conversation. Some are sweet. Some are lonely. Some are fake. The way White smiles at Blue is nothing like the way she smiles at Yellow, even if the difference can be imperceptible sometimes. There is, however, a particular kind of smile White appears to have crafted specifically to Black. From a distance, it is but another smile, charming and intimidating. And yet, look at it from the right perspective, and the threat becomes clear as day.

White’s smile says:

‘Love me, and I will end you. Leave me, and I will be your demise’.

Black does not bode well with paradoxes. Irresistible, they clutter an already-filled space in her attention, using up more energy and thought than the other Diamonds may think worth. Instead of fighting against it, Black accepts the loss, and makes her best attempt at keeping her projected body from glitching.

It takes two to tango.

 

* * *

 

_“Once, there was a time when I believed_

_Without hesitation_

_That the power of love and truth could conquer all_

_In the name of salvation”_

 

* * *

 

When the news reach Homeworld, White is busy with going over trial reports while Yellow and Blue see Steven off back to Earth. The work is monotonous and mechanical, worse than reading over the databases, to the point where each case seems to blend with the following one. She can barely tell the shatterings apart from the harvestings. Her styled hair has lost its shape after just a few hours, with how frequently White runs her hands through it. She sent her Pearl out to run errands. Alone with her thundering thoughts, White fails to contain her gasp when one of her Agates tears through the automatic door (granted, there was no Pearl available to open it) and salutes, teeth clenched.

“My Diamond! I bring urgent news from sector 045!”

Having her underlings barge in without announcement does little to soothe her already foul mood, but White manages to recompose herself in short enough notice to maintain her public persona. She throws the files to the side, and the digital bookmark she had placed gets lost with the gesture, as she will sorely discover later. 

“Speak, Agate.”

She may not have Yellow’s electric powers, but her voice is enough to send most gems into a near-blackout state. Thankfully a millennia of harsh training and unwavering discipline allow the Agate to shake off the paralysis, clacking her heels together and staring straight ahead as she speaks, words overly enunciated.

“We have just received a distress signal from the assigned 045 troop. Twenty-four losses, two incapacitations, three still standing. They have managed to secure information from the enemy’s ship and request collection. A rescue mission has already been deployed, but we await further orders.”

Still half-distracted with her previous task, White does not see the delivered information as anything more than a mistake. She had discussed the state of military operations with Blue not more than five hours earlier, in preparation for Yellow’s self-destructive adventure, and they had both agreed that it was better to leave movement to a minimum, seeing as there were no active teams outside of the patrol group travelling between colonies. They just had their borders fortified, after all. No need to make a fuss.

“At ease. Whatever troop are you talking about? Last time I checked, Yellow has all of our armies under training protocol until she departs for her scouting mission”, she asks as calmly and kindly as she can. Her task-related frustrations and workaholic tendencies have left White with an internal ache, an itch of sorts, and she debates whether using the Agate as an output for the discomfort would be too much of a foul play. Perhaps she could take over control for a few hours, make use of the training facilities her body and her position have made off-limits? White did pick out the whips herself, in the end, and the fact she never got to test them out is a terrible shame. She continues to consider it as the Agate provides a more detailed explanation.

“Black Diamond’s team, my Diamond. Assigned to the task around thirteen hours ago.”

White loses her train of thought. It does not make sense, until it does.

“I see… Twenty-four Rubies? Pebbles? Specify the body count.”

White reaches for a stray strand of hair, twirling it around her fingers in a repetitive, obsessive motion. The Agate is thrown off guard.

Looking back, there are a few major differences in how Pink Diamond’s first months of existence played out in comparison to Black’s. Pink was, at the time, small and fragile, so the obvious instinct was to coddle her. Protect her, place her in a dome of glass. The Diamonds’ caution towards her was the source of their disagreements, the limitations they placed upon her quickly becoming the fuel to the fire of revolution. Pink was a child who eventually grew into her position, and the Diamonds were too caught up in their own issues to realize it, or at least until it was too late. Black, on the other hand, was already born ancient. A warrior of body and mind, simultaneously worlds away and exactly like what Pink could have been. Expecting another sophomoric, immature, innocent gem, the Diamonds are at a lost with what to do with Black. Be it by giving her too much freedom or by standing too close, they inevitably fuck up.

“Twenty Quartzes, two Emeralds, a Zircon, and a Sapphire, my Diamond”, states the Agate, punctuating every word with a shaking breath. Her practiced composure is wearing down at the edges, melting down her neck from underneath her voluminous coiffure, like wax dripping from a pathetic candle. White processes the information with caution, doing the necessary calculations and storing the results in the back of her mind, where it will be readily accessible later on. She thinks, decides on what to do, then claps her hands. Just once, but it is more than sufficient to disturb the physical projections of those around.

“That is enough. Call Blue and Yellow Diamond back from their duties. And, for star’s sake, figure out where Black Diamond is.”

The Agate leaves as soon as the order is delivered, and less than five minutes later White has her two barely-functional companions by her side, the three of them stalking down empty halls to the quarters Black was last seen at. White explains the attack, and by consequence the causalities that came with it, but makes no mention of its perpetrator. A thousand words go unsaid in the short walk. Her hands feel cold and clammy when she reaches for the door panel, typing away by herself the override code and stepping in the room that had once been hers, a spare office that was often left empty. Black, like a wild forest animal, has picked it as an unofficial haven. A place to hide the things she knows others are not supposed to see. It would have worked for a while longer, had the architects not placed the damn override for the door right at White’s fingertips.

The windows are locked, and from the heavy air that fills the space, it is clear they have been for a long time. An unmistakable scent of smoke hits as soon as they walk in. If they had the need to breathe, they would likely be choking by now, grasping their throats and coughing and spitting for fresh air. Give it long enough and it would have looked like a crime scene. Death by neurotoxin, or something of the sort. Thankfully, immortal and untouchable as they are, the Diamonds are not affected beyond mild discomfort, allowing them to walk around the eerily empty space and take it as it is. Most of White’s things have been moved out (and not been replaced, as it seems), except for the vanity table tucked away in the right corner and the floor-length curtains that line the walls. Semi-transparent curtains that are currently draped over the vanity table, forming a canopy around the furniture, softening the tear Black Diamond’s body makes in the plane of reality. She has fallen across the surface, face buried in her arms. Unmovable, she does not respond to her guests’ entrance. White has never seen a gem behave in such a way before and, from that point onward, a portion of her anger is replaced by worry. Yellow and Blue are similarly concerned, looking at White for an indication of what to do.

They call out Black’s name a few times, but she does not respond. A pit develops in White’s stomach. When shaking Black awake does not prove fruitful, she steps away as if she had been burned.

Sensing the impasse in the room, Yellow’s Pearl, primly poised near the entrance, murmurs hurriedly to Blue’s Pearl. A brief discussion occurs, and both nod in agreement.

“My Diamonds, may I request that Yellow Diamond order her Pearl to give a full daily report?”, gently asks Blue Pearl, lowered face covered by her thick, slick hair. Had it not been for the deafening silence that washed over them, the Diamonds might not have been able to hear the request. Nevertheless, Blue eyes her Pearl skeptically. The dark marks beneath her eyes have returned overnight, likely due to stress, and if she sounds snappy it is because she is.

“I don’t think now is the appropriate time, Pearl.”

The small servant lifts her head, pointy nose poking through her long bangs. She takes a shy step forward, hands grasped in front of her chest.

“My Diamond, I insist.”

Defiance is unusual, especially from her part. Blue catches on very quickly.

“Do you know something, Pearl?”, she sternly asks, turning her cold eyes to Yellow’s assistant, who looks like she is very close to passing out. Her small limbs are shaking, no matter how intently she tries to hold them down.

“I- I can’t exactly recall, my Diamond. But if you would like me to, I certainly could!”

Her voice is higher-pitched than usual, creaking out of her voice box, bordering a soft-spoken scream. From the Diamonds’ perspective, she does look like a small canary, flapping its wings about in a nervous streak. Yellow stares at the Pearl, then at Blue and White, then back to the Pearl. The way her lips are pressed together into a thin line tells very little of what she is thinking.

“What are you on about?”, she demands, careful of what is to come. White shakes her head, marble eyes staring mindlessly at the sleeping Black, not daring to step closer.

“Do as she asks, Yellow. Give her the order.”

Yellow flinches at White’s croaked tone, then looks back at the nervous Pearl. She all but ignores Black’s misfit presence.

“… If you insist… Pearl, report on today’s events. Leave nothing out.”

“Very well, my Diamond! First I completed the inventory manifesto for your ship, then – as you requested – I accompanied Black Diamond to the training arenas, where we received news from the Gaian ambush on the secret mission. After that, Black Diamond walked back to White’s palace, where she collapsed in one of the hallways. When she came back to herself, she made me forget it happened and sent me back to my regular duties.”

Yellow’s Pearl essentially spits the words out, dropping them away from herself like hot coals burning at her skin. Once they have made some sense of the information just given to them, the Diamonds are unsure on how to react. Yellow settles for switching her concerns away from Black and to the recent attack, while White appears to ignore what has been said altogether. The way she claws at her left forearm with her right hand is enough to prove something is wrong. Blue is the only one who has half a mind to press on, picking up the tiny ballerina in the palm of her hand, thin eyebrows creased in an ugly manner.

“Hold on, Pearl. You said she collapsed?”

“Yes, my Diamond. Much like she is now, except on the floor. None of the guards managed to wake her up, so they set up a watch. She spoke to them afterwards as well, if I am not mistaken.”, the Pearl explains, the stress visible in her doll-like visage. A beat passes. Then another. And another. Black remains still and lovely as a statue. The lack of movement becomes too much, and with a harsh flick of her fingers, White snaps. Her painted eyes have gone dark.

“And how long was she out for?”

“A few minutes, my Diamond, though she did not seem to be fully recovered when she sent us away.”

“That is enough, Pearl. Thank you for your honesty, but please give us some privacy.”

They are soon left alone, three empresses and a problem. She notices she can’t breathe, even if she wanted to, and pays no mind to the violet marks she has made on her once-flawless skin. Her thoughts are a hurricane of curses and worries, more so than usual. Yellow paces around the room, poking Black on her arms around three times before Blue finally asks.  

“What do we do?”

“Slap her awake? Scream in her ears? She is not organic, Blue. There is no reason for her to be asleep, especially not now!”

“You could electrocute her.”

The suggestion is decent enough, at least until Blue moves her arm and the sleeve of her robes falls to her elbow, leaving the scorch marks on her skin bare to Yellow’s trained, over-analytic gaze. They are barely there, faded to the point of soon disappearing, but she finds them fresh and raw, just like her guilt.

“No, Blue. I can’t do that.”

“Quiet, you two”, commands White, and the two immediately shut up. She stalks languidly over to Black, a low succession of heel to floor to toe, cape dragging behind her like a terrifying shadow. Her hands wrap around the back of the chair. Black’s reflection on the mirror seems serene, perhaps more than White has ever seen her. Despite that, beneath the wash of sleep and the cloud of smoke, remains the aggressive, manipulative tension that is her core, something intangible that could not be described by the locked muscles and clenched teeth White can feel when she runs her fingertips around her cheek. Her own mirrored image watches her struggle with sadistic pleasure.

“So you are one to run away from your mistakes, is that so?”

She does it before anyone can stop her. Her pointed fingernails drag their way to Black’s forehead, gently tapping at the polished surface of her gemstone. The soft kiss she places on the top of her head is bittersweet, for a second later White yanks the gemstone away. If she had been awake, Black would have tried to put on a fight, but even so it would have taken very little effort for White to do as she decided. A cloud of mist and shadows bursts forth, like a monster taking place. Black poofs as if she really were made of smoke.

A lot will happen before Black reforms. The news about the failed mission will become widespread, and with it anxiety will flourish among the lower ranks of Homeworld. Soldiers will no longer prepare for just another mission on the job, but for the off chance that they will not return, and all technicians and engineers on duty will be running up and down to prepare backups of their backups. Their free time will be spent in search of entertainment, in whatever form they are able to get their hands on. Yellow Diamond will leave for her mission, and Blue Diamond will leave behind any form of functionality she has acquired in the past months until Yellow returns, safe and sound. In the meantime, White will remain alone, locked inside her head, preparing for yet another war in her eternal lifetime.

She keeps Black’s gemstone safely by her side. When nobody is watching, White tries to apologize, but never manages to.

 

* * *

 

“ _Now darkness has descended on our land_

_And all your prayers cannot save us_

_Like fools we've let the devil take command_

_Of the souls that God gave us”_

_“The Spirit of Man” – The War of the Worlds by Jeff Wayne_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you noticed the Portal references, you get a (metaphorical) cake!


	5. Trials of Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Diamonds are faced with an endless stream of battles - both agaisnt the enemy and themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended to have this chapter ready much sooner, but other aspects of my life have been taking precedence as of lately, which is why I would like to thank those who are reading this for their patience. Please be aware that this chapter contains very mild descriptions of gore relating to war. Even if the descriptions do not go beyond the mature rating, some readers may need to take a more mindful approach this time around. That said, please enjoy!

 

* * *

* * *

 

_“And it's an old scar_

_Trying to bleach it out_

_And it's my whole heart_

_Deemed and delivered a crime_

_I'm on trial, waiting 'til the beat comes out”_

_Florence and The Machine – “Which Witch”_

 

* * *

 

Cold. Quiet. Peaceful. Utterly endless.

Silent, but not really silent. There is no such thing as silence to her, after all.

It feels like being torn between nothing and everything. She exists, that she is sure of, but somehow she isn’t anywhere in particular. The voices she hears are all mismatched and distant, spoken from the surface when she is currently deep under the layers of the universe, and the words they proclaim are unintelligible. She tries to breathe, but finds that there is no air to be taken in, nor projected lungs to accommodate it. The phantom pain of having her gemstone ripped out remains, aching and tender, though there is no way in which she can pinpoint its location. Perhaps she is a phantom herself. Mist flowing between dimensions. If that is the case, then how come she feels so horrible? Surely her emotions would have faded away along with her physical body. But, no. Her heart still clenches, and her throat remains burning, and the cold sweat lining her skin is just as uncomfortable as it had been right before she ceased to exist. Panic seizes her by the back of her head.

She fucked up. Badly. Blind with her powers and greedy on success, she must have forgotten something. A tiny mistake, the littlest miscalculation, and her tower of cards came crumbling down. The golden thread wrapped around her finger snapped. Her first wrongdoing in her eternal lifetime, the result of a series of events well beyond her reach, and she knows not how to deal with it. Scared, alone, and betrayed. Trapped within a glass dome, afraid of whatever awaits on the other side of the line, helpless as a sitting Pearl. Black loathes it. A thousand stories of the sort have been delivered to her mind without her permission, and the characters and the plots and the morals become tangled like pages from a dictionary smashed together in the wrong order. To some, her antics were fine and appropriate, almost expected. However, it seems that the Authority shares not the same view as post-modern _Torean_ authors. When the views are so contradictory, how is she supposed to know how to act? Her own impulses are chaotic as they come, a product of too much time in her hands and sloppy supervision. She knows, however, that she lives in a lawful world, one in which her slips of mind are paid with discipline.

When news of her mission were delivered, her initial reaction was denial. Her calculations had been perfect, meticulously crafted from the total sum of gem knowledge, and the statistical chance of failure was too small to be accounted for. In theory, of course, or else she would not be deliberating on such grim topics. Then, like a film catching flame, denial became panic. She knew the stories as if they were bedtime tales. Just holding Yellow’s ungloved hand stings away skin, and with the right emotion Blue can drive any gem to the brink of madness. Then there is White – cruel, vicious, and bloodthirsty. Every fiber of Black’s body begs her to stay away, though they betray their own pleadings whenever her mere name crosses her thoughts, and suddenly all she craves is light. Light, light, and nothing but light. Like a complete fool, getting too close to a shining star, unaware of how treacherously it burns. And it hurts. More than anything she has ever read or experienced. When it first happened, she had chalked it all up to acquiring a feeble sense of protection in this trying environment, an attempt to lure their love in, but her impulses are too plain to conceal the gritty reality of it all.

They may comfort her, promise to protect her, or even dare to hold her close. Black, unfortunately, always hears too much.

She is an outsider, forever and always, and the Authority is not kind to outsiders. If she can’t keep up the facade of belonging, then she is better off being trapped inside her gem.

 

* * *

 

The departure is rushed, overly-clinical, and overflowing with protocols. They barely have time to say goodbye, being torn apart by duty as if a mountain had suddenly raised itself between them, and no amount of farewell kisses shared in the hours leading up to it can satiate the feeling of unresolved business. Blue manages to hold back her tears until she is alone in her chambers, while Yellow is not so lucky – she fails at muffling out a sob the second her ship breaks the atmosphere. Despite their bothersome emotions, feelings that make themselves known at the worst of times, the Diamonds keep on moving forward. They have no other choice. Another four attacks have taken place since Black had her gem ripped out, resulting in a total of thirty-nine confirmed casualties and more than eight tons of loot apprehended from the enemy. After an ill-fated encounter with a cloaked battle-ship, however, the recordings harvested by the survivors of White’s orders are their only hope of keeping the upper-hand, and so the Authority clings to it with teeth and nails. From the looks of it, White will need to prepare her declaration speech a bit sooner than expected, and Blue is already confined to holding audience with her advisors for the foreseeable future. To say the least, it is chaos.

The Sapphire holds her salute for a moment longer. Her wavy, deep-blue hair covers most of her body, adding to the mysterious air engraved in the cut of her gem, like fog floating above a deep lake on an early winter morning. Fog that covers the nervousness the future-seeker harbors within her small heart, a fact she further tries to conceal with an awkward smile. Blue sighs, chin upon her palm.

“Are you sure you are not simply lacking in concentration?”, she asks, even though the three other Sapphires to whom she spoke before have said the same thing. She feels horrible. Terribly gutted, and in such a state Blue could not care less if her words come out as too cruel. The short gem freezes at the question, petrified over her own incompetence, but an encouraging whisper from the nearby Pearl (or rather, the cute doodle she discreetly displays on her holo-screen) gives her the courage to shake her head and speak once again.

“I am absolutely certain, my Diamond. My companions and I have discussed our pressing visions and have come to the conclusion that none of us are able to offer an accurate prediction. It is as we have feared: the future of Homeworld, as it is, is too volatile to be tracked down.”

Icicles have formed around the hems of the Sapphire’s skirts. Blue’s mind flutters back to the fusion Steven is so fond of, the mixture of fire and ice that calls herself a Garnet, and she idly wonders if the oracle in front of her has also fused before. She wonders if most other gems have, and if so how any of them manage to get anything done when it feels like a piece of herself has been torn away and sent to the other corner of the universe. They probably do not, she concludes, and that is why she is there. To keep their society half-functional, standing on two pillars instead of the five fate had dictated to exist. But then again, it seems like fate, treacherous and capricious, is the one coming back and taking what has been granted, leaving the Diamonds to fare with the scraps of order they find among themselves and their empire. Fate took Pink from them by giving her a spirit too strong for her own good. Had she been weaker, Blue muses, perhaps she would have preferred to stay. She supposes fate was also responsible for screwing White up, making her a prisoner of her own mind, and that fate is likely the force that keeps Black from truly being one of them, the same way a force-field deflects incoming projectiles from the north quadrant. Bitterly, she can’t decide if fate is the one prying Yellow away, or if the Empire is the one to be blamed.

In the end, it was her choice not to go with Yellow, so Blue does her best at chasing thoughts of fate away.

“Try and make some sense of it. I am afraid the enemy strategy-masters will not waiting around for you to pick a future. You may go.”

The Sapphire leaves with a graceful curtsy, small snowflakes following behind her like her own personal snowstorm. Blue is surprised when no other gem comes in after her.

“Was she the last scheduled appointment?”, questions Blue, the desire for a break bubbling up inside her, to the point where she can feel it in her bones. With a confused look hidden by her curtain of hair, her Pearl skims through her files, reading page after page of the list of appointments, a confirmation that they have not a second to spare, but nevertheless shaking her in agreement. It seems like Yellow’s Pearl, stationed just outside the door, was sensible enough to send the waiting gems away. The throne room quickly becomes too silent for Blue to endure.

“Have we received any news from Yellow’s army?”

The Pearl takes in a short breath, aware of the untold weight of the question and of her mistress’ erratic responses.

“I am afraid not, my Diamond.”

She feels it in her chest – the taking over of a suffocating feeling, like a shadow clawing its way up her lungs and closing up her throat, frigid and raw. Added to the fatigue of being overworked, all Blue wants to do is to curl up in a corner and cry her eyes out until this whole fiasco has ended, gone away like a nightmare on a summer’s night. She can’t do it, for White would never allow her, so she has no choice other than bringing her legs up on her throne and pressing her forehead against her covered knees. Her heavy breaths puff back over her face.

“And we have no connection to her ship?”, she mutters. It has barely been a week, and she feels so broken already.

“No, my Diamond.”

“Stars… What if something went wrong? What if they were ambushed the second she left the galaxy and we just haven’t heard yet? What if she is stuck in a bubble somewhere? And if she is dead?”.

The words pour out as easily as the tears do, heavy and hot and hurt. White would have her banished for acting in such a gruesome manner, with the way her sobs sound like pain taken form and how she chokes between syllables, but the empress has locked herself away in her palace and Blue is beyond caring about her wrath. She does not notice the waves reverberating around the room, deep cyan flooding the senses, and only when the poor Pearl doubles over in pain is that Blue becomes conscious on how she is dispersing her sadness to those around her. Guilty, she does her best to contain it, though her efforts only seem to make everything feel worse.

“I’m sorry. I-I…”, she tries, even if apologizing seems useless at this point. Still, the Pearl pushes past the pain to offer her Diamond a kind, comforting smile, tiny wet cheeks puffed up.

“Yellow Diamond is very powerful, my Diamond. I am certain she will be back, safe and sound, before you even know it.”

It is a marvel that such delicate creatures are a Diamond's strongest link to sanity. Blue is awful, and even so her Pearl dares to treat her kindly and fairly, as if she were the nicest soul to ever walk the planet. Perhaps it is just the way her systems are wired, the chemical coding of it all, but the sweet concern of her assistant brings another sob to Blue’s heart. Guttural, though a little less painful. Blue extends her hand, and without questioning her Pearl steps on it, holding her balance as best as she can when Blue brings her closer to her face. From there, she can see the tiniest details of her Diamond’s complexion – the purple veins lining the crystal of her eyes, the similarly dark shadow beneath her long lashes, the thin wrinkles outlining her features and - not for the first time Pearl has noticed - just how broken she appears to be.

“That is not soon enough, Pearl. Not nearly soon enough. And it is not only Yellow that I worry about, but rather the whole Empire! Everything appears so broken, so empty, I can't imagine how we will even begin to fix it...”

In the end, the heaviest cloud is bound to eventually rain down somewhere. Like droplets of water collecting to birth a storm that will destroy an entire country, Blue’s emotional distress is the result of an amalgamation of issues, coming together all at once to leave her incapacitated. She is stressed and overworked, as are the others who share her position, torn up by the grief she will forever carry on her shoulders, and unwillingly isolated among her court. White is gone. Pink is gone. Yellow is gone, and Blue absolutely hates being left to herself, with her tricking emotions and biting concerns. She is distressfully aware of her duties - even desperately wants to fulfill them – yet something within her simply won’t allow her to. As though she were defective. The thought makes Blue shudder, and her Pearl feels the tension reverberate through her body.

“Would you like me to sing, my Diamond?”

Singing always helped. Yellow Diamond had been the one to teach her that, a few years after news of Pink Diamond’s demise had reached Homeworld, and the information had quickly spread among other court members, to the point where every gem under Blue’s command could jump into song at a moment’s notice if the need arrived. Tears clouding her vision, Blue unsteadily nods. Before her hums turn into a proper melody, the Pearl discreetly cancels all other appointments scheduled for the afternoon and sets her Diamond’s communication channel to auto-reply. Then, she tells Yellow Pearl to go take a break. She has it covered.

 

* * *

 

White was never one to find difficulty in staying still. She could be perfect, be it in utter stagnancy or perpetual movement for centuries upon centuries, and so to find that she has suddenly become restless, pacing up and down her throne room for what felt like the entirety of a day, is rather odd. The first day, she simply ignores it, likely because she remains too mad to speak. The second day, however, is spent flicking her attention nervously between _it_ and her duties. Finally, on the third day, White completely loses it. She realizes she has gone insane. Her Pearl, the poor dear, can do very little in soothing her mistress’ anxieties, and quickly excuses herself to her break when White throws a holo-screen against the wall, shattering the projection component into hundreds of fragments of light. The frustrated scream, unfortunately, can still be heard from the hallways as the Pearl swiftly exits.

The sharply-cut, dark as night gemstone is placed on a satin pillow, perched upon a lonely pedestal in the corner of the room. The notion is stupid, she knows, but White can feel it as if it were staring. For a brief moment, she considers smashing it on the wall, but as soon as the thought crosses her mind she becomes nauseous and has to sit down. Her main computer emits a melodic note, and she can see from the corner of her vision that a new military report has been delivered. Good, Yellow is not dead. Actually, maybe she is, and the message tells her just that. She does not bother checking, in part because Blue would come to her if it were the case, but also because her mood is foul as it is. Defeated, White buries her face in her hands.

The rooms in her palace are lined with mirrors, borderless and infinite, the perfect tribute to her narcissistic persona. After all, love or hate it as she might, she can’t help staring at her own reflection. Doing so, it is clear that her eyeshadow has faded over her eyelids, the remains of it clumped together in the crease of her eyes, and her eyeliner has become blurry beneath the waterline. Washing it all away and starting anew is tempting, but she has more pressing concerns than fixing her appearance. There are reports to be analyzed, for one, but also combat training to be discussed with the Agates, kindergarten management to be addressed, and a war council to be held with Blue. Blue, who is back at neglecting her duties, leaving White to carry on the responsibilities of the Authority by herself. Then there is Black, the center of all their concerns, who is either too damaged to reform properly or simply refusing to do so, out of spite, making White’s heart sing a song of fear and anger. But this is fine. White may be crying, but this is fine.

Her reflection stares at her. There is pity in her gaze, bathed in repulse, contrasting like red and green laid side-by-side. Vision blurred, White can taste the salt of her tears sliding down the corner of her lip, and it disgusts her. How weak she has been, allowing herself to be swept away from her duties by a pair of pretty eyes, only to be locked back into her oh-so-familiar cycle of self-hatred, just like the off-color she really is. Pathetic. She presses a hand to the cold mirror, hoping that the gem on the other side of it would reach out and switch places, if only for a moment. All she feels is the cold.

She does not know when, but the computer beeps once again, and past her loathsome state White can see the messages pilling up. The Authority’s glory is hanging on by a thread, thinning out by the hour, and it is up to her to fix it. Was that not her purpose? Fix things? Make them better? Perhaps it was, once upon a time, but such a notion was hurt the moment the little human deflected her powers and threw her to the ground. Pink is gone, Homeworld is in pieces, and she has their supposed saviour displayed on a pedestal. A disaster in all senses of the term. The worst of it all is that White can no longer recognize the figure on the mirror. She is prim and pleasant, ruler of gemkind, but everything the reflection shows is bitter and anxious and stressed, and her only words of guidance were delivered to her by a human child, who knows nothing of her and the world she lives in.

‘ _You know, if you just let everyone be whoever they are, maybe you could just let yourself be whoever you are, too’_

Who is she? With each passing day she gets closer to the answer, but closer is never close enough to satisfy the missing variable in her existence. She tries, though. Stars, does she try.

On any other given day, White would have picked herself up in an instant, blotted away the tears and redefined her eyeliner before diving head-first into another twenty-four hour cycle of work, just like her subjects expect of a Diamond. Today, however, White is already cracked. She is feeling the feelings she is usually not allowed to feel, and that is a point of no return. Because she is stressed, and lonely, and there is not a single damned, competent soul willing to help her out, a scenario which would not be acceptable even on a spectacularly good day. It is simply not fair.

She almost breaks her seat by standing up too quickly, and lightly indents the floor with how hard her steps are as she moves in the direction of the marble pedestal. Black’s gemstone is oddly warm in the palm of her hand. She can see her own light refracting through the material, a small portion of it shining off from each facet like a small lantern of its own, while most other light seems to be sucked into an endless void contained within the gem. It is heavier than it looks.

“What am I to do with you?”, she asks to no one in particular. Her throat hurts from crying.

“Maybe I should just ignore you. Keep you there, collecting dust until the ends of time… Or perhaps your plan is to wait around for you to become bored of your confinement and come back out, only to realize Homeworld has fallen to pieces because of the mistakes you made?”

Her fingers grasp the gemstone, containing it like a small cage. She tests the weight of it, lifting and lowering her arm a few times, and pretends her tears have dried out.

“Stand up for what you have done, Black. Stop cowering inside your gem!”

Diamonds are, by nature, one of the strongest substances known to civilizations across the universe, and as such there was never any chance of harm being done. Still, the thrill is there, the thrill that takes over the room when White raises the gemstone and throws it at the mirror, breaking the reflective surface into a thousand little pieces. She watches them spread across the floor, like stardust sprawled underneath Black’s pointed shoes. The heat of the reformation still radiates around them. Black is crying, too, shaking body pressed against the broken remnants left up on the wall, cracks forming around her frame like cobwebs or melting, breaking ice.

“It wasn’t my fault”, she pleads, silver eyes blown up to two gleaming moons. The shadows of her body contrast gravely with the clinical brightness of room, the cut-out of her form stitched back into reality only with the mess that surrounds them. White may not admit it for the sake of her anger, but she is relieved to see Black standing and alert, a world’s away from the corpse she had been not long ago. Nevertheless, her laugh is bitter.

“Wasn’t your fault?”

The sneer is coated in wine and honey, both tempting and humiliating, and it makes Black’s heart speed up to the point where she is sure she is about to faint.

“You sent the mission, dear. Going behind our backs, ignoring everything we taught you, wasting our precious resources like the petulant brat you are. But no, surely you know better than the three eternal beings who came before you.”

Instead of moving closer and grasping her by the chin, White turns her back and slides to her desk, long legs peaking from beneath her translucent skirts. She languidly, though purposefully, decides to fix her makeup, tapping on her eyelids to freshen up her shadow as if the mere act could wipe clean her own internal turmoil. She can watch Black from the opposite mirror, and her gaze alone is enough to keep Black pinned up against the breaking wall. Fear is still written all across her pretty, angled face. She attempts to justify herself, voice rising in pitch without losing its hoarseness.

“My reasoning was flawless, White. Their execution is what faltered. Surely I can’t be blamed for that.”

“They are your subjects. The responsibility is still yours”, says White, index finger sliding over her bottom lip, tinting it back to its shiny lipstick. Black attempts to move closer, despite her better judgement, and pieces of glass from the wall crumble to the floor once she lets go of them. White can see through the reflection that Black’s movements have a weakness to them, very unlike her nature-given vitality. Reluctant, even. Mind wandering far away in space and time, she recalls how ripping her gemstone away from her physical projection had been too easy, easier than sliding elegant fingers down silk fabric, and takes in a deep breath. The computer chimes once again, three quiet beeps at once, and White takes her sweet time fixing the crown upon her head, knowing too well that not having her attention makes Black more nervous than otherwise.

“There was no way I could have predicted an ambush!”, remedials Black, pointed heels dragging over the glass dust, which ends up floating around her feet like deathly fog on a dark night. Their gazes meet in the mirror. Then, like blowing out a candle, the helpless, crying gem is gone, and in her place stands the Diamond that destroyed a planet before even being born. “Besides, did we not get access to the enemy’s databanks?”

A trickster fairy, creating havoc without a care of the consequences, living on the philosophy of having the cake and eating it, too. With the memories of her warm touch still imprinted in her mind, White turns around in her chair, twisting her long, glittering cape around herself like a hurricane. She manages to keep her voice even.

“At what cost? At what cost, dear?”

What she says comes out harsher than expected, and White flinches.

“… A few dozen gems. Not even important ones, at that”, Black concludes. Fear has been chased away from her gaze, and whatever remains is impossible to read, a poker face White can only place between self-satisfaction and restlessness. There is an itch now, sudden and new, clawing its way outwards from her chest, and she searches relief by slowly standing up and leading herself towards the broken mirror, heels crushing the remnants scattered below to thin powder. The thought of holding Black by the chin crosses her mind once again, this time with the intent of smashing their lips together, but choking the thought down with practiced diligence, she instead opts for sliding her flat palm to the back of her consort’s head, finger tangling in her slick updo. From the grimace, White believes it must have hurt. She puts on a pleasant smile.

“War. Your little display of power, my sweetest Black, just bought us an intergalactic war.”

For a moment, there isn’t a reaction. Black is, after all, scavenging her background knowledge for an appropriate response, but comes out empty-handed. It seems that being sweetly threatened by your superior-turned-lover after you majorly fucked up, accidentally causing a war, is not a common experience, and so the literature on it is vague and lackluster. In the end, she settles for doing what most would do when under the threatening gaze of an all-powerful being. She lies, saccharine smile perfectly mirrored.

“I am… I am sorry.”

Unfortunately, White sees straight through her. Her ghost-like body shakes with dark, deep-tone laughter, so genuine that Black can feel the reverberations in her own physical projection. It makes her lose her balance like standing up during an earthquake.

“Oh, please spare me the theatrics. I can see the smile sneaking at the corners of your lips clearer than when lava sweeps from molten rock. You are yet to know what remorse feels like. Don’t pretend otherwise”, she says, hand still firmly-gripped in Black’s hair. Had it not been the context of the conversation, perhaps her gestures could pass off as lovable and caring and intimate, with the way her long fingers softly stroke the nape of Black’s neck. But there is tension between them, and not of the attractive kind. It is a good thing Black had time to recover from her previous meltdown, otherwise her trembling knees would have already given in, with the way White’s pointed stare pierces right to the core. Half-waiting for her physical body to be ripped apart once again, Black waits until she is certain that White’s reactions are not deadly to finally look up at her, eyes straining from the light.

“In that case… Are you angry with me?”,

“Can’t you tell?”

She may be able to read minds, but sometimes reading people manually proves to be a challenge. White’s smile is just as alluring and just as deadly as any other one, perfectly impeccable, so she shrugs.

“Well, I am. Utterly furious. Though you did prove that your presence may mean something to me after all” says White, laugh lingering in her words. She finally releases her hair, hands moving down to grasp her by the shoulders, similarly to how she had done during their fateful encounter at the ball, with the difference being that Black worries her lips with her own teeth this time. The tonal shift is deafening. Similar to taking a magma bath, scorching and consuming, then, without a second thought, plunging head first into a pile of snow. How fast they change from cat to mouse, spider to fly, angst to affection. An exhausting dynamic, eating away at their senses until they are left numb.

Beneath the anger and the packed-on makeup, she can see the faint outline of the cracks White keeps inflicting upon herself, yet there remains a solidarity in the fact that Black knows her face is similarly scattered with marks of incompetence, derivatives of a youthfulness mistakenly imposed. Two imperfect queens, playing god. Taken aback, she presses her hands to White’s wrists, lazily attempting to pry them away without actually putting in any effort.

“According to my files, becoming attached makes things worse.”

The comment is off-hand, flat and impersonal, almost as if the words she recites are not really hers. Because they aren’t. Mere syllables to fill in the empty space were a genuine comment should be, the result of an impulsive need for stalling.  Putting forth her own thoughts would be too messy of an ordeal. Had it not been for the contradictory way in which Black reaches for her, mind and body alike, perhaps White would have been hurt. Instead, she smooths down the fabric of her bodice and stands back. Then, she scans the room for a silent moment, hunter’s eyes snatching at the slightest misplaced speck of dust (in other words, everything around them), and when she does speak a tinge of reluctance taints her composure.

“I fear there might be a slither of truth in your words. These past weeks I had been worried about you, fearing that perhaps you were too pristine to survive as one of our own. But then what happened at the ball, then this… I came to realize I made the wrong impression of you. You’re not perfect.”

Outside of Homeworld, such a statement would be obvious. The Diamond Authority, however, thrives on the ideology of perfectionism, so it is not out of character for White to be hung up on that fact. Black is not upset by the comment. She knows she can play the part whenever she must.  

“No, but I am exceptional”, she says matter-of-factually. With a tilt of her head and a smile, White snaps the pedestal away from existence. It vanishes in a puff of white mist, almost as if it had been a sentient gem itself, the notion of which leaves Black a bit disturbed. As if she had not been crying and fitting only a few minutes earlier, White steps into her empress persona and brings about her judgement, voice falling low and eyes scanning Black up and down. Her hands, however, fidget with the hem of her sleeve.

“That you are. Exceptional, impulsive, and completely careless. Never have I met someone as stupidly bold as you are, much less one who dares get away without a scratch.”

Being in the same room as White is a challenge. As cutting as her words may be, she delivers them with gentle care, leaving Black at an impasse in how to act. She says she is angry, furious, though the smile printed upon her doll-like lips and the way her body turns in Black’s direction are as welcoming as they have always been. Clear communication is an unknown concept in this corner of the galaxy. Their interaction feels like attempting to cross a bridge without being able to see the where it starts and where it ends, and Black has no choice but to keep walking.

“You won’t forgive me, I presume?”

“No, never”, very brusquely states White. Not for stealing her heart, not for making her cry, not for causing a war. The pursing of her lips indicate she is tonguing the back of her teeth. She then pauses, takes in a long breath, and the darkness in her demeanor slowly melts away. “But I cannot trap you in a bubble for the rest of eternity, for that is not my right to impose. The Authority needs you, like it or not, and so I can only hope you will be willing to compromise. Serve your Empire as our rules dictate, and I will happily put your little transgression behind us.”

There is always a price to pay for the mistakes one makes. The war will be dealt with between the four of them, but dealing with White’s capricious tendencies is a cross she will have to bear by herself. But she will not do it without a fight. No, never.

“As we have established before, White, I am not fond of being compliant. You already have a Pearl to order around.”

“No, I have an empire to order around, one which you are very much under..."

White plucks a piece of broken mirror from the wall, then crushes it between her elegant fingers. 

"But fear not, as I wish you no harm. All I ask is that you be a functional Diamond.”

The destruction that surrounds them feels very present. Black hesitates, lips parting into the shape of an ‘o’, and White can tell she has trouble keeping a line of thought coherently.

“Please, dear. Can you do that for me?”, she asks a bit more softly, and upon coming closer Black notices that her recently-applied mascara has run down the corner of her right eye, a grey droplet of water streaking her cheek. The need to wipe away the tears manifests as viciously as a famine and, before she can think, she finds herself wrapped in White’s arms, head pressed to the fabric of her dress. Her perfume smells like what Black imagines a burning star would. It takes a moment of bargaining with her emotions, of screaming back and forth with herself not to be an idiot, of insisting on blowing away the flame of a sensation that flourishes beneath her skin, but White eventually hugs her back. Something goes unsaid between them, be it a thousand paragraphs or merely a couple of words, though none of the two can point out exactly what.

“Tell me why you did it, then. You owe me as much.”

She runs a hand over her hair, following its voluminous loop with her fingertips. Lulled by the affection, Black does try to remember what had been going on in her head at the time, but her personal memories are as scrambled as an ill-kept archive. Instead, she thinks on why she would have done it now.

“I saw an opportunity and just could not turn away from it. If I took the time to convince you three, we would have lost the window of time.”

Maybe it is a lie, maybe it is the truth. White does not really care, for she only seeks a way to soothe her conscience, an attempt to justify her violence upon her moral code. One way or another, Black had misbehaved, and now that the issue is settled she can go back to how things were before. She can fix whatever this is. Surely she can.

“I could not stop thinking about you”, she says suddenly, and waits for Black to raise an elegant eyebrow before continuing, “This entire time. It was torture. So, dear, do not let something like this happen again.”

“Why are things never easy?.” Black wrinkles her nose, a look of misplaced displeasure peaking around the corners of her easiness, an expression that would have seemed natural or even cute on any other gem, but that carries a certain warning when printed upon her storm-like gaze. She holds her breath for a long moment, then exhales harshly. “I don’t think I can promise you something like this. It would not be fair to either of us.”

Her words come out muffled and hoarse. White just holds her a bit tighter, either as an impulse or as an outlet for her troubling thoughts. Under the severity of a war and the brightness of her palace, the denial becomes louder in volume, as does the portion of herself that is too far gone to give a flying damn about decorum and sense and consequences. She should be better than this. She should be doing more. She certainly should not be neglecting her duties and rewarding what might as well be a criminal with kisses and bites and cosmos knows what. Her authority over herself bleeds away with the same decadence her grip over the Empire slid away so many years before.

“Nothing ever is”, she finally replies, pointed chin resting on Black’s head. They remain like this, trapped in a bizarre dance, until her Pearl comes back from her task, and with a nervous smile pretends to ignore the screaming computer and the rubble that covers the floor for the sake of her duties. Later on, Black offers to wipe out the little servant’s memories, but White refuses.

 

* * *

 

Days quickly become weeks, and weeks soon gather into a month. Every day, once an hour, Blue demands that her Pearl try to connect to Yellow’s ship. Every time, the connection fails.

 

* * *

 

_“Who's a heretic now?_

_Am I making sense?_

_How can you make it stick?_

_Waiting 'til the beat comes out_

_Who's a heretic, child?”_

 

* * *

 

War is never pretty. It is rough, loud, and acrid. Like a greedy beast stricken with the sin of gluttony, it takes more than it can bear and regurgitates the bloodied remains all over the carpet. Chaotic. Wild. Her specialty. Death, on the other hand, has a serenity embedded in itself. Lulling soldiers to eternal slumber with its alluring chants, it moves in pirouettes and soft steps, watching from around the corner like a love-stricken youngster about to confess their feelings to an unsuspecting crush. For Yellow, controlling war is an easy thing to do – after all, losing track of something so obnoxiously flamboyant is nearly impossible to her trained eye. It is death that escapes from her, both of the enemy and of her own people. Death travels in the shadows, and she is a being made entirely of light. Sometimes it catches her by surprise. An Amethyst set to watch the ship’s lower deck is the first to be lost. The enemies are organic, easier to kill than humans could ever manage to be, but their strength comes from the numbers and the advantage position of their home territory. Fighting them feels like fighting the plague. Pointless. The work is monotonous and mechanic, and by the sixth hour fatigue begins to creep in, and it is then that one of the Peridots gets trampled by the organics. Another hour passes, long and excruciating, and by a slip of mind a Citrine gets poofed right by the side of Yellow’s heel. Tension creeps in, and Yellow uses the sole of her shoe to smash a dozen of the little pests into a puddle on the ground. The atmosphere of the planet is thick with humidity, packed on as if two atoms could occupy the same space at once.

They are losing.

As the realization dawns upon her, Yellow’s mind automatically crafts a plan of action to remedial the outcome. Using brute force against beings so primitive has proven to be an ineffective approach, and the longer they remain in this vicious cycle, the more exposed her team becomes. Fleeing is no longer an option. Besides, there is her pride to be considered. Her army is the deadliest instrument in all known galaxies, and for even a fraction of it to endure a loss so ridiculous as the one that threatens to befall them is ludicrous. She will not allow it. Between strikes, Yellow reaches for the back of her neck, where droplets of water have collected upon her skin, beneath her helmet. Everything in the planet seems to have been soaked in water, and even its inhabitants have a slimy quality to their bodies. Looking at the sky, it comes clear that it is about to rain. The battle cries are muffled by the sound of her mind working against the grain. In the midst of the fight, static crackles around her, and the dampness of the air allows for the electricity to spread around her form, like striking a match next to a pool of gasoline. One of the organics, thinking that its sturdier physique was an excuse to cross her path, attempts to strike her in the knee and fails miserably, tumbling to the side before having its head ripped out. Its bodily fluids leak to the ground, a sickly shade of orange, and Yellow contains a gag. Pathetic, they are. Another gem gets hit, and her shards fall to the ground much like the upcoming rain.

That split moment is all it takes for Yellow to make a decision.

Taking off her gloves, the look in her eyes can almost be classified as apologetic, and if the rest of her soldiers had been paying attention to her movements, perhaps what came next would not have been such a surprise. Nevertheless, the Homeworld gems are busy with pouring mind and soul into battle when the wave of electricity hits them. A thousand volts of energy delivered straight to their cores. Light consumes the surface of the planet, and in less than a moment they cease to be. Suddenly all is quiet. Yellow opens her eyes. The few specks of organic vegetation that remain standing are little more than statues of charcoal, and the fire sprouting from their surfaces will likely finish them off before she leaves. Amidst the charred bodies of the pitiful organics, the brave gemstones lay on the ground, sparks still being shared with the humid atmosphere. Yellow can taste the Sulphur at the back of her throat, dry and nauseating. Her own skin feels burnt, her fingertips numb, but she knows through the adrenaline that the injuries are psychosomatic.

They won. She may be the only one still standing, but they won.

Later, reaping the spoils is a morbid ordeal. She picks the surviving gemstones from the sea of corpses and returns them to the ship, making sure to check for cracks and bubbling the ones that have been damaged before the victims have a chance to reform. She collects the shards, too, careful not to leave a single piece behind, and stifles a flinch when a severed arm reaches out to her. She poofs and bubbles it immediately after. Going through the enemy’s nearby base takes a fair amount of shape-shifting and patience, for their archaic technology is almost painful to a sophisticated mind. The data-disks are safely secured in the pocket of her jacket, the warmth from the explosion still radiating from the metal components pressed to her chest, and she is sure to destroy the remaining structures with a final blast of energy. On the last standing building, however, one of the computer screens flashes frenetically at her entrance. Foreign letters are printed upon it, one by one, forming a message that can only be directed at Yellow. The translation comes automatically to her mind, almost as a second-thought, and her teeth clench at what has been said.

_‘Very crude of a solution for such a simple problem. I expected more.’_

She punches the screen with her bare hand, and the little pieces of glass cling to her skin like thorns on a rose. Finishing off the building is almost cathartic, as if she were crossing a line at the end of a long document just written out, and it is only after she is sat on her ship that the real exhaustion kicks in. Not of the physical sort, of course, though it feels like someone poured lead directly into her mind.  Despite the fog and the thick impairment, her first reaction is to call Blue, who is no doubt shaken with worry. The connection fails her, and the rest of her long trip back to Homeworld is spent in suffocating loneliness.

 

* * *

 

In times of distress, normalcy is found in brief flashes in-between chaos. Small talk over paperwork, friendly banter when supervising military training, warm anecdotes shared over broken glass and the honeydew scent of death. Picking out each moment of candidness and stitching them together would create a short-lived story, fluffy like candy floss, plot diluted with lukewarm tea, and in the end the overflowing sweetness would give most sane minds an upset stomach from too much self-indulgence. Paired with the adequate scenarios, however, when the sweet is added to the grimy and rough reality that paints the world mad, these little wholesome interactions tell much more than a few thousands words ever could. When one lives and breathes their job, perhaps the small details of their personality get lost in the big picture, though under the correct lighting they can become once again visible, clear as day.

White’s passion for glamour, for example, goes beyond an intimidation technique and a symbol of her status – it is a hobby, harbored with its ups and downs like any other, and given the opportunity she can and will geek out about the finest works of literature and the lushest threads of fabric. Aware of the stories without ever actually having read them, Black is happy to hear her retell them in her own fashion, commentary casually slipped between discussions of attacks and ambushes. Blue’s interests are more subtle, sprinkled in her actions without receiving an official mention. They are part of the tunes she hums with the back of her throat, documents and holo-screens pilled up on her lap, her flowing robes consuming her like an ocean wave crashing over a mountain, or maybe part of the choice of entertainment she picks for after when she barely manages to pull through the day. Like when she requests that her Pearl pick out a few book samples from the restricted section of the general archives. Yellow, on the other hand, is earnest in regards to her quirks, sharing all of the ways in which her fine mind works to solve a problem or dissect a situation, and even ending up getting her fellow empresses interested in whatever unorthodox experiment she has been working on lately.

Slivers of understanding among themselves come at random.  They are, after all, the only ones who are capable of sympathizing with the issues they go through, the crippling responsibility of running an empire, and even if they were to hate one another, the need for companionship would still manifest itself louder. But the reality is that they love each other, in the particular way only almighty beings can love, and so when forcing isolation as a facade becomes too great of a chore, they are drawn to a place of familiarity. Little by little, step by step, they begin to reacquaint themselves. White makes a point of stopping by Blue’s chambers every once in a while, offering consolation in the shape of sumptuous gifts (“Here. Another pool to keep your mind distracted. Such beautiful tiles, are they not?”) and the occasional hug. Given that the only other person she is not forced to see is her Pearl, Blue can’t complain, though she turns wary whenever the conversation stirs away from frivolities and towards the world outside the crystal walls that entrap them. After a few solitary visits, at which point White realizes nothing she can do will patch the emotional tear Yellow did the favor of leaving behind, she eventually shows up with Black on her trail, and the mixture of anger and relief that pours over Blue’s lake-like gaze is unnervingly nostalgic. Black pleads her apologies once more and, even if it is not clear whatever she is truly sorry for, Blue is too tired and detached to put up a fight. Well, that and the fact that White appears to have moved forward from the entire ordeal. Again, Blue can’t complain.

It is during these shared moments that White begins to pay closer attention to the gems she surrounds herself with. Rewinding to a couple months prior, she could not have guessed the extent of Blue’s (and, by consequence, Yellow’s) dependency, nor how ugly matters could become when seen from up-close. The lack of motivation was stirring, specially when it was followed by sudden bursts of overworking and dedication, during which periods Blue would accomplish a week’s worth of tasks in a mere few hours, only to then return to a mentally inoperable state (defined by Black as a stagnant body of water that would occasionally cause tsunamis). More surprising than that was to see how Blue’s court had adapted to their mistress’ routine, thriving on the inconsistency of long breaks and intense marathons of functionality. To interact with such a hectic schedule personally was proving to be a challenge, even more so when Blue’s intentions went into conflict with Black’s overly unpredictable whims. Hyper focusing on a specific task, only to then fall on a pit of boredom and drop it all to search for something more stimulating, Black had a sort of organization no Zircon could ever map out - bordering on anarchic. A lover of margins and discipline, White could only pray to the skies above that Yellow returns sooner than later, lest she become caught up in the pandemonium.

What begins as an exercise in control soon becomes a channel for curiosity. On one side, learning exactly how deep the damage goes when it comes to Blue. On the other, understanding who Black really is, beneath mirrored smiles and captivating kisses and sudden collapses. White can take over control of a body without doing as much as batting an eyelash, but prying around the depths of a mind is, in all honestly, a terrifying ordeal, with the threat of losing your own self in the process too great of a cost to justify the outcome. Besides, she did promise the little human she would try to be nicer. Never mind that she has failed so far. Nevertheless, she observes, like a panther stalking around its territory. She sees how Blue keeps her communication devices at full volume, always within reach, and how she has instructed Yellow’s Pearl (who stayed behind for safety reasons) to periodically check for messages directly from the transmission center. Not as blatantly, she notices how Blue chews on her fingernails whenever the new reports come in, and how the habit rips out skin whenever she takes notes and outlines her analysis as if she were planning her next move during a game of chess. Most importantly, she catches the green. Shades of green tinting her clothes and ornaments, bleeding around her shadows, coloring the lights in her palace. Teal, turquoise, mint. White figures it is an unconscious response, and so refuses to bring it up, even when Black purposefully asks her about it.

Likewise, she knows how Black becomes lost in thought whenever they hold court proceedings, when their halls become filled with stationmasters and advisors and soldiers, the noise of their screaming minds too intrusive and bare, and that in those moments Black’s bottom lip droops just the tiniest amount. She learns that Black soaks up information like a sponge, the piles of archives and documents left on any available surface an indication that she has been in the room, added to the scent of fire lingering behind, and that her mental acquisitiveness is a creature left unmatched in all of the Empire. That Black enjoys stories more than she does art, and that she likes art more than she likes songs. That her humor is actually as vulgar as any Quartz's, despite being hidden behind charming poetry. That she collects trophies and trinkets from the people she interacts with – the tiara gifted from White, a bracelet received from Blue, the numerous military files sent by Yellow, ribbons and ornaments and gadgets given as offerings by her subjects. And then, with enough observation, she realizes that Black will periodically appear tired and weak, usually after extended use of her persuasion powers or after undergoing a particularly overstimulating event, at which point she will do anything within her reach to remain as far away as possible from any talkative mind. White, who lives within her own private fortress, is the only one capable of witnessing such an event. Before Era Three, she would have classified Black’s behavior as defective, though now a portion of herself fights against such a definition. A small portion, granted, but an insistent one.

No matter of the amount of quirks they may sport, however, the Diamonds remain immortal rulers in the middle of a war. Blue’s anguish is the bell that announces the death of thousands of enemy soldiers as the Homeworld troops extended past the borders, and Black’s interrogation of the alien prisoners leaves even the toughest of Agates covered in cold sweat. White, the puppet master of it all, needs no introduction. It is under the thick cover of war that the Diamonds find themselves gathered in the main throne room, one of the war prisoners fallen at their feet, Black’s silver gaze a million miles away as she pulls apart its unrefined thoughts. Once she is finished, the creature drops like a rag doll, lifeless, and Black slumps back against her seat, a vibrant shade of displeasure printed upon her features.

“Have it removed”, commands Blue, and one of the standby Rubies hesitantly drags the corpse away. White can only grimace in disgust at the claw marks the creature has left on the carpet, but regains her composure and puts on a bright smile when turning to her pink-shaded Pearl, lined up with the others, who seems weirdly undisturbed by what she has just witnessed.

“Right. Any more appointments in our schedule?”

“No, my Dia-!”

Just as the Pearl begins to answer, her tone sweet and calm, a voice coming from the end of the hall stops her in her tracks. A loud, beaming, elegant voice.

“Actually, just one more. I promise I will be quick.”

If a voice could be music incarnated, they would likely agree that that one would be it. One could almost feel the static crackling in the air, energy prickling at skin and overflowing the senses, and suddenly the grim filter that coats the situation is washed away by warm undertones. Blue is on her feet in a succession quicker than lightening, running down the hall as her robes float behind her, layers upon layers of cloth moving with the artificial wind of her momentum. Her emotions flood the room, summer rain tickling down open hills, and the overpowering nature of love smacks all those present straight in the face. Then, in a flash, Yellow Diamond is almost knocked from her heels as Blue very much attempts to poof her with nothing but an embrace. Screw it that White is sitting right in front of them, watching the spectacle with the bitter heat of an unloved critic. Yellow is there. She is alive. She is home, and neither of them could give a single damn about spending a millennia inside a glass-like bubble if it means they can be as close as physically possible, absorbing each other’s light, taking in all they are offering. It doesn’t matter, even if now Black is bent over the side of her throne, heaving and coughing from the abominable mixture of the effervescent affection thick in the air and the glutinous misery of the prisoner, still stuck in the roof of her mouth (like the wickedest cough syrup, only worse). Or that the Pearls are watching with starstruck eyes, or that Yellow still tastes like ozone and sulphur, or that the Nephrite standing to the corner carries a canary bubble filled with gem shards.

When they share a kiss, deliberate and resolute, Yellow’s ungloved hands tangled in Blue’s hair, the is little else to be done other than stare. At least, that is what White and the Pearls do while Black buries her face in her hands, body shaking from the waves of nausea that insist on coming. Although there is no real background sound to be accounted for, the echoing walls highlight the beats marking the moment, either a construct of imagination or a product of artificial hearts powering through a state of shock, and White loses count of the period of time that stretches ahead of them before she opens her mouth, then closes it, then opens it once again. She is suddenly aware of the steel stare of cyan and gold fixed on herself, watching her every move like a predator in a defensive mindset, and the green of it all bleeds over her own blinding light. And, for the first time in her eternal lifetime, White does not mind that her light is overpowered.

‘ _You know, if you just let everyone be whoever they are, maybe you could just let yourself be whoever you are, too’_

She rises from her seat, slowly moving towards the insurgent pair with an unreadable expression.

Then, she smiles. A mysterious smile, rare among its kind, and soon the attention in the room shifts to her.

“Your work out in the field has been admirable”, she praises, tone low, then presses a chaste kiss to the side of Yellow’s temple, though her hand lays on the exposed skin of Blue’s shoulder. “Welcome home, my dear.”

And, just like that, the weight of the Empire becomes a thousand times lighter. Other acknowledgements go unsaid. As the pink-tinted fog disperses away from their vision, Blue lets go of Yellow’s arms for long enough to notice the lack of gloves and the dark circles that have formed beneath her thick eyeliner. They both look worse for wear.

“Yellow, whatever happened out there?”, demands Blue, calculating eyes attacking the invasive imperfections printed upon her lover’s body, all of the small injuries and marks that had not been there a month before, guilt hitting her hard with every new discovery. Perhaps she should have gone with her. Protected her. Stars know how careless Yellow could be sometimes. In response, Yellow almost seems embarrassed.

“A miscalculation, it seemed. What we thought was simply an information base turned out to be an entire sector dedicated to military training. I could not have left in good conscience without wiping them clean.”

“What? An entire sector, Yellow? And without reinforcements, nonetheless! What were you thinking?”

Much like her sadness, Blue’s anger overflows like the unruly sea taking over the land. Harsh enough to turn rock into powdered sand, to wipe out vegetation from the coast, to terraform the landscape to her will.

“It doesn’t matter, Blue. We won.”

“But what if you had not? Would you have left me here to keep on going as if nothing had happened, waiting around for a rescue mission to bring me your shards?”

Before Yellow makes the mistake of replying that yes, that is exactly what they are meant to do in case one of them is lost in battle, White stealthily grabs them each by the wrist, pulling them towards the thrones like the unruly children they so enjoy emulating. The Pearls gather at their feet, excited to hear about the glorious tales of the battlefield, and in their contagious cheerfulness, even Blue can’t remain upset for too long. No one seems to pay the Nephrite any attention, and so she remains still as a statue, the bubble trapped within her grasp as if her life depended on it. Before long-stretched moments of conversation are allowed to take place, her mind slowly clearing out out, Black finally raises her eyes up to Yellow, whose prideful show of teeth is instantaneously joined by anger. Warm and sizzling anger, so very different from Blue’s cold sneer or White’s inviting whispers. Black thinks of apologizing, of putting on a smile and swaying on her heels to divert the attention, though she instead settles for a new approach. She rises, face relaxed, and extends Yellow her hand.

“Excellent work.”

Praise is, as it turns out, one of the things Yellow has been starved of for thousands of years, and it shows in the crooks of her mind and in the periods and commas of her phrases. So, even if her songs do not carry the same weight as White’s velvet-clad compliments, they do manage to strike a chord nonetheless – one that directly opposes the hierarchy of the situation. In response, Yellow’s eyebrow twitches.

“As it is expected from a Diamond. Now, do tell me – how many perfectly viable gems did you have me ruin, Black?”

When she does not answer back, electricity crackling in the air, Yellow orders the Nephrite soldier to step forward. Then, signaled by a spark-accentuated snap of fingers, the soldier pops the canary bubble in painful reluctance, spilling its fragile contents right in front of Black’s pointed heels. Unlike the glass shards from before, these produce a holographic mist. A collective gasp follows suit the action and, as much as her conscience begs her to interfere, White allows the confrontation to proceed, her gut reaction being to instead back away from the shards as quickly as possible, pulling her glittering cape out of their needy reach. Her hands become covered in cold sweat. Blue, as disturbed as White, forces herself to remain by Yellow’s side, and watches on puzzled when Black does little more than bring her feet up to her seat. Black observes for a moment, silent, then lifts her head once more.

“If you didn’t lose some pieces on the way back, then sixteen, not taking the poofed gems into account.”

The impression that Black may take certain sensitive matters way too bluntly would be accurate – she really does. Part of it is a derivate from her personality, of course, though the select influences she has had so far are the real element at play behind her words. She is a Diamond, the face of the Authority, and thus the core of her principles is shared with the Empire. An empire that is likely twice as blunt as she can be. The difference in perspective that might make Black’s tone too condescending, however, lies in the fact that the remainder of the Authority was directly impacted by Pink’s (and by consequence, Steven’s) actions. In other words – not all of Homeworld has been prompted to consider a change in ideology, much less to go through with it.

The frustration that roars within Yellow is loud, loud to the point it begins to spread to the others. Awful words are at the tip of her razor-blade tongue, sour as lemon, and the outline of her accusations is settled in stone when Black raises her hand, palm flat, and halts the discussion. With such negative emotions prying their way into her mind, like parasites on a rotting apple, it is simply logical that she would get upset, too. Fair is fair. Nevertheless, even if White has become desensitized to the crumbling of their personal status quo, the remainder of the Authority is not as accustomed to being talked back to, much less by a gem that, by all definitions, should not have ascended to the status of equal this quickly.

It is well-known among gemkind that holding a Diamond’s gaze for too long can easily be taken as a grave offense, thus being punishable by disciplinary action delivered by the offender’s respective manager. When no manager is available at that point in time, the responsibility is transferred to the highest-ranking officer in the vicinity – if you’re lucky, it will be an Agate; if not, a Diamond. As such, it can only be inferred from the spiteful stare that Black delivers to the three other Diamonds in the room that, brilliant as she may be, her actions are dangerously destructive.  

“Did you even bother checking all of the drives my team brought back before giving me the blame?”, she asks rhetorically, the offense in her voice bordering plain amusement. A moment passes, time enough for a deer to get caught in headlights.

“No? None of you?”

Silence. At this point, the deer is one with the road, the smell of iron irradiating from the pavement. Anger still bubbles across the surface of the atmosphere, mixed with the indigo-tinted anxiety that White cannot bring herself to contain within her mind. When no response follows, Black rips one of the holo-screens from a Pearl, expanding the hard-light projection with staccato gestures and furrowed brows. She all but throws the screen at Blue.

“There you go. Coordinates, audio recordings, attack plans… Whatever you collected from the bases likely has even more information we can use.”

Suddenly it is harder to see. Shadows creep above them, taking over the ornamental carvings on the ceiling, descending pillars, and sweeping the corners.

“So, yes, a few dozen gems got lost in the process, but it is not my fault that our soldiers are not strong enough to take a couple of hits from puny organics.”

Black can certainly smell it. The scorched battlefield, a freshly-made memory tainted with the stench of enemy blood and burnt ozone. Like a film, the images from the fight replay themselves across her vision, blinding her to the reality she barely belongs to and trapping her inside Yellow’s private hell, now made her own. White’s worries wash over her body, a parallel story she must endure, and her hands become clammy. Blue is quiet.

“And yes, I did buy us a war. A war that we have every chance of winning if the Authority would just stop being so uptight about everything!”

Her voice croaks low, like embers wasting away in a fire, and in a flash of vulnerability her vexation becomes bare. She immediately regrets running her mouth. For when your emotions get the best of you, it is often after the damage has been done that you realize to which extent you have pushed, or perhaps broken, the boundaries deemed appropriate by society. Yellow’s curled fingers, pastel canary at the knuckles, warn all of those present that these boundaries are long dead and buried, and the dark lines that outline her features are made of strange shadows.

“You are…”

The Pearls share a collective intake of breath, producing a sound not unlike an orchestra of gulps.

 “… Out…”

Blue’s hand attempts to grasp Yellow by the shoulder, but she shakes it off without giving the action much thought.

“… Of line.”

The aftertaste of war mixed with the electric current coursing through the air is an ill combination of sensations, especially so when there are seven other interpretations of the displeasure packed together with your own, so if Black flinches when Yellow’s thoughts are purposefully redirected to the dirt and grime of the battlefield, she is hardly to be blamed. Her ink-like gaze flutters over to the audience - to the stiff forms and clenched jaws, to how Blue’s attention is painfully split between the screen and her lover, to White’s unreadable, silent judgement of it all. A hundred different threats hang above their heads. Regardless of the fact that it takes an absurd amount of concentration to string coherent ideas together, even more to when it comes to ideas of her own, Black absolves herself of the hierarchy to speak once more.

“Stop treating me as if I knew nothing of the world. I am not _her_. Even if I were, was this not the sort of attitude that made her run away from you?”

A twist of the knife on a wound barely healed, hurtful and impulsive, an act as cruel as the dame death who snatches innocent subjects away, subjects whose only sin was fighting for a cause. There is, however, very little time for Yellow or Blue to process what has been said, much less to inflict any proper form of punishment that would, once more, send Black to the realm of nonexistence. They don’t even get to blink before the colors are stripped away from the world around them. Cyan, magenta, and yellow bleeding away to white and grey, everything becoming doused in endless light, expanding outwards until their vision is lost and their limbs feel oddly numb. It is as if they were stationed on a star. Finally, Black understands what is silence.

“Enough, you two!”

Once the light fades away, it is White’s roaring voice that greets them. Her blank cheeks are splotched mauve, almost entirely up and around her temples, and whatever happened in the snapshot of lost time has left her pristine hair in mild disarray. Underneath her long lashes, her mascara seems smudged. The Pearls are lined at her feet, round big eyes staring up at them in a mixture of fear and fascination. One of the standby servants has collected the spilt shards and neatly stored them in separate bubbles that now remain suspended mid-air, one for each type of gem. Though the feeling is foreign to Black, Blue and Yellow are overly familiar with the numbing daze that lingers once White relinquishes her control over their bodies, and the understanding that follows suit is equally as unpleasant. Their hurt is tangible, and White chokes on the apology that crawls to the tip of her tongue. Nothing else can be said.

“Excuse me.”

Fleeing may be the staple of a coward, but Black is beyond caring. However, as she goes to step through the door and vanish from sight for the rest of the week, she glances over her shoulders one last time. Instead of finding a rehearsed, overly-sweet smile, White’s painted lips curl downwards in a grimace. Unreadable.  Yellow has also shut off her mind, toned arms crossed as she weakly stands next to Blue, both of their gazes a million miles away in opposite directions. Then, likely due to a falter in discipline, a tiny, puny, single intrusive thought peeks past the defenses. A thought cold in color.

“Blue agrees with me.”

 

* * *

 

_“I've had enough, it's obvious_

_And I'm getting tired of crawling all the way_

_I'm not beat up by this yet_

_You can't tell me to regret”_

_Florence and The Machine – “Which Witch”_

 

* * *

* * *

 


End file.
